My Asgard Father
by Bixata
Summary: MacGyver x-over. Jack is Thor's adopted son. When he returns to Earth he becomes MacGyver. From childhood to Iraq, and the steps in between, through loss and love and fatherhood.
1. My Asgard Father

Summary: Stargate/MacGyver crossover. Thor saves baby Jack and becomes his father. Jack returns to Earth where he becomes MacGyver, eventually leading a dual life. The story focuses on Jack's father/son relationship with Thor, and follows him from his childhood to the Stargate years. This has Jack/Sara, and both Charlie and SAM appear.

Author's Note: In all practicality there is no way that I could successfully integrate the two distinct lives of Jack O'Neill and MacGyver, but I tried to stick to canon as much as possible. Additionally, I couldn't get the timelines to fit, so the MacGyver timeline happens about five years earlier.

Spoilers: anything from both shows is up for grabs, but particularly any Stargate episodes featuring the Asgard and MacGyver season 4 episode Blood Brothers (when we learn why Mac never uses guns).

Story Warnings: Rated T, language, canon character deaths, torture

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate: SG-1 or MacGyver, strictly for entertainment, yadda, yadda. Please don't sue.

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My Asgard Father

William O'Neill navigated the outskirts of Chicago, murmuring words of comfort and love to his wife Grace who was panting in the back seat, preparing to deliver their first child.

Something was wrong, she was screaming and in worse pain than he could ever imagine. He was afraid for his wife and unborn son but he had to focus on getting them both safely to the hospital. A drunk driver had other plans, however, and plowed into the side of the car, sending it spinning off the road and down the steep embankment to the river below.

William fought the blackness in his vision, the pain in his side and legs, knowing only that he had to save his wife and son. He fell out the door and crawled to open the back door. With shaky hands he pulled Grace out carefully and lay her down on the damp grass and mud. "Grace! Gracie, baby, wake up. You're okay. Grace!" Unwanted tears streamed down his face as he hugged her to his chest, rocking her body gently, knowing that she was already dead and there was nothing he could do to save her or his son.

"The child lives," a small, tinny voice startled him, but he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. His wife was dead and he was dying. "I can save him. We will keep him safe for you, he will be protected."

William nodded weakly, only half-hearing the words but understanding enough that the possessor of the voice was offering him a chance for his son to live. "My son. John O'Neill. He'll live?"

"He will live. He is special."

"My boy. Jack. He's special," William repeated deliriously. "Save my son. Jack. You'll keep him safe? You'll make sure he's happy?"

"It will be my honor."

There was a strange whining sound, then a baby crying. His son was crying, his son was alive! With one final great effort he opened his eyes and saw his son for the first and the last time. He reached out with a shaky hand and touched his son's face, his hair, then his tiny hand. His eyes drifted up to who would be his son's new father. "Who are you?"

As his vision faded out he could just make out the frail limbs, the large head, the dark, round eyes. "I am Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet. You have my word your son, Jack O'Neill, will be well cared for."

"He'll grow up. Tell him…tell him…" his voice trailed off as he fought for breath. The small gray being with large black eyes placed his hand with long slender fingers on William's forehead and he could no longer feel the pain. He felt calm. The last thing he saw before his life ended was the peaceful and loving brown eyes of his son. "Jack," he whispered with his last breath.

Thor stared down at the lifeless bodies that had created the special child he held in his arms. "He will know of your love, O'Neill. I wish I could have saved you, and your wife. Your son has a long journey ahead of him but I promise you he will never be alone."

In a flash of light Thor and baby Jack O'Neill disappeared from the planet Earth and rode through the Heavens on the Asgard ship _Biliskner_.

--

Thor carried the tiny form of the human child through the halls of Othalla, in the galaxy of Ida. He knew the others would not understand his actions, but he had done the right thing in saving O'Neill's life. He knew it, and the others would come to see that as well.

It had been an incredible coincidence that Thor had been able to save the human child at all. He had been scanning the planet from orbit and had just happened to pick up on the unique genetic signature of the human he now carried in his arms. He would have ignored it, but then the life sign faded briefly, and he…panicked. Yes, that was the only word to use, he had panicked. He could not risk the humans of Earth losing such great potential. So he acted, to save a life.

He looked down at the human baby in his arms, the brown eyes wide with curiosity. Thor adjusted his fingers so the child could grip its tiny fist around the larger digit. It had been a long time since there was a baby on Othalla. In a quest for immortality the Asgard had resorted to cloning themselves and were now incapable of conventional reproduction. To them, this child was a miracle.

"Greetings, Thor," someone said from behind him, taking quick strides to catch up with him.

"Greetings, Heimdall." Both Asgard stopped in the hall to converse.

Heimdall's voice was higher pitched than most of the Asgard and Thor found it slightly annoying. He was also often bothered by the rapid pace Heimdall set in both speech and movement, mostly because he was jealous but he would never admit it. Heimdall was sympathetic and understanding and despite being committed to his research on finding a solution to their reproductive problems, unlike Loki he followed the moral code. He was Thor's friend.

"This is the child?"

Thor felt a sense of protectiveness wash over him and he clutched the baby closer to his small chest. "This is my son, Jack O'Neill."

"Your son. Are you sure you have done the right thing, Thor? Surely he belongs among his own kind."

"He will return to Earth when he is old enough. He must know the ways of both our people."

"You intend to raise him by yourself? A human child requires much care and tending. What of your duties as Supreme Commander? Will you take him into battle?"

"I will do what must be done. You do realize his importance to the Tau'ri, and the Asgard, do you not?"

"I do. But I fear you take this burden upon yourself. The Tau'ri will never accept him as one of their own if he follows our customs. How can he become the great leader he is destined to be if he follows our ways?"

"These decisions are not ours to make today, old friend. The council must decide. But I have sworn to protect Jack O'Neill and I intend to do so."

"I hope you know what you are doing, Thor. You can not afford to fail."

"Indeed not. We will not fail him."

--

_Seven years later_

"Greetings, Father."

Thor inwardly smiled at his son who had instantly awoken when he entered the room. "Greetings, Jack. Did you sleep well?"

"I had the dream again. Of Earth and the Stargate. There is so much out there to explore. I want to experience everything, to speak with others of my kind. Yet I enjoy my life here with you, sharing your world with you. And our journeys aboard the _Biliskner_ I will cherish for always. I am proud to assist in your defense of our galaxy. But I sense that I am…restless."

"Of that, I am aware," Thor said, remembering all the times in Jack's seven years that the young boy had managed to find the only room, device, console, or ship that was not childproof.

Jack grinned sheepishly, a natural instinct that he had not learned from the people who had raised him. "My body is different than yours. I require…I require action. I wish to run through the Halls of Othalla, but it is not permitted. When you took me to Cimmeria I have never felt such peace as when I stood on the solid earth, the grass beneath my feet and the wind on my face. I felt…"

"What did you feel?" Thor prompted when Jack hesitated to find the words.

"I felt at peace. Like I belonged there. This ship, and the homeworld, they are so sterile. On Cimmeria, I felt so alive, I could hear things other than the hum of the engines and the chimes of the ship's computer. There was so much life there, Father. You have told me of Earth but I have never been there. My home is with you and I have never questioned that but…" he hung his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly, also not a habit he acquired through observation.

"You wish to see your planet, Jack?"

Jack raised his head and stated calmly, "Yes. I wish to know the planet of my birth, the home of my parents. But I also know that some day you will send me there to stay, and I am not ready for that."

Inwardly, Thor sighed, because he knew that Jack was wrong about that. "You are ready, son. It is time for you to join your people. I will speak with the council."

Jack's eyes went wide with fear. "You will not leave me there! You are my father, all that I have ever known. I am not ready."

They gazed at each other, eye to eye, but after a moment, seeing the sincere distress his son was in, Thor stepped closer and opened his arms for Jack to embrace him. They did this only in the privacy of their own quarters, it was rare for the Asgard to show emotion. For that same reason, Thor had never told his son how much he loved him. Young Jack did not even understand the word, but he knew intuitively what it was and Thor knew that his son had a loving heart, filled with compassion.

"And you are my son." Thor said as he stroked Jack's back lightly. "I only desire what is best for you. If being among your own kind, in the environment of your people, is what you desire, then it shall be so."

"No. I want to be with you. I can't imagine any other life. I don't want to lose you."

"You will never lose me, son." He backed out of the embrace. "We are family. I will always be there for you, but there are some challenges you must learn to face alone. You will become a great leader one day, but to do so you must understand your own kind. It is time for you to live among your own people. I have been selfish to keep you here with me."

"No! No, Father!" Tears streamed down the boy's face and he wiped at his eyes in surprise, unfamiliar with the reaction. "Do you see, I am hurt! You would not abandon me now."

"I would never abandon you, Jack O'Neill. If you were among your people you would know that these are tears…" he reached up to brush away the wetness from Jack's face "…and they are only the result of your sadness."

"Sadness?"

"That pain in your chest you feel is a human emotion, your fear that you will lose me."

"Yes. It hurts. I do not like feeling this way."

"Then know that I am always with you."

"Then you will be with me on Earth?" he asked hopefully.

"As you know, the Tau'ri are ignorant of my existence. To them, I am an alien, a being from another world, and they believe they are alone in this galaxy."

"Yes, I remember. They cannot know of your existence yet, it is not the time. But you would not leave me there alone."

"I will be watching. You will be safe."

"But…what if I want to see you and to talk to you? You are my father, I need you. And you need me, too. I see it in your eyes, you are…sad…to send me away."

"Indeed I am, son. I have enjoyed your company these past seven years, and I am proud of all you have accomplished. But you must live among your people if you are to lead them into the galaxy."

"No," he pouted. "I don't want to leave you."

"You told me you wished to experience everything. The grass beneath your feet, the wind on your face. These are things you will have on Earth."

"Then you will share them with me. You must promise to come see me, and bring me home aboard _Biliskner_," Jack reasoned, far wiser than his seven years would suggest. "I must have you in my life."

Thor hesitated a moment, but emotion warred with logic and love won out. "And you in mine. I will visit. We will maintain communication. I have become accustomed to your presence, my son."

Jack smiled the largest smile of his life and again tears were streaming down his face. He wiped his eyes, confused. "But I am not sad anymore. Why do I have tears?"

"These are tears of happiness."

"I am very happy that you are not leaving me forever. That we will always be together. I am not afraid anymore."

"There is nothing to fear, my son. I will never leave you. But you must be careful so that we are not suspected. You must learn the customs of Earth without drawing attention to yourself."

"I will do my best, Father."

"I know you will. I have faith in you, Jack. I am very proud of you. Now we must prepare for your journey, and you must speak with the council to convince them you are ready."

"You are sure I am ready?" Jack asked, his voice small and lacking confidence.

"There is no doubt in my mind. You are special, Jack."

"I am special to have you for a father," Jack said with a grin.

"You have been the perfect son. There is nothing I would change about you. I have enjoyed our time together."

"As have I, Father. I am very glad you saved me that day, and took me in to raise me. I will make you proud."

"Yes, you will. You must prepare for your new journey now. I will return when the council is ready to see you."

"Yes, Father. Will you show me the stars?"

Thor toggled a button on the wall and the room darkened until only tiny pinpricks of light remained, a representation of the night sky as seen from Earth, so that Jack may always know his home. He quietly left the room while Jack gazed up at the stars around him with a sense of wonder and amazement before he sat on the thin sleeping mat which was spread across the floor in a corner of the room. He pulled the handheld computer console from its inset in the wall, displaying his lessons on conventional Earth wisdom concerning technology and inventions. He was great with mechanical things, understood innately how things worked, down to the simplest pieces of the puzzle. He loved figuring out how to make something from nothing.

As the doors closed behind him, Thor leaned his back against the wall and sighed. It was time to let O'Neill go, but he had long dreaded this moment.

On the other side of the door, as soon as the doors had closed, little Jack O'Neill couldn't stop the flow of tears and for the first time since he was two, he cried himself to sleep, ignoring the comfort he normally found in learning about the Universe.

--

The _Biliskner_ hovered in orbit over the planet Earth and Jack O'Neill looked out the view port at what was to be his new home. "It is beautiful," he stated calmly, trying to hide his amazement from Thor.

"Indeed. You were born in Chicago, Illinois, in the United States of America. Do you remember your lessons, Jack?"

"Yes, Father. I am an American."

"That is correct. I will transport you to the state called Minnesota."

"And I will report to a police station. I will tell them I am Jack O'Neill and my parents are dead. They will ask me many questions about where I have been, but I will tell them I do not remember. They may give me a new name, and they will find new parents for me or put me with other children and I will learn from their behavior. I am not permitted to talk about you or the Asgard or anything about our travels together."

"And when you wish to communicate with me?"

"I have an implant in my arm that will remain undetected by human technology. With it you can track me. When I am alone I can activate the link to communicate, but I must be sure that there is nobody around to observe me, or you will not respond."

"Then you are prepared for your new journey, my son."

Jack jumped into Thor's outstretched arms, tucking his face against Thor's neck and fighting back tears. "I will miss you greatly, Father. I will not fail you."

"You could never fail me, Jack. You will be a great man, no matter who you become. I am honored that you are my son."

"And I am honored that you are my father. You will never forget me?"

"Though I have lived for many millennia I have never been as happy as these past seven years with you at my side. Do not forget that, and never forget who you are. You are Jack O'Neill, son of William and Grace O'Neill, son of Thor of the Asgard. You are as much of the Asgard as you are of the Tau'ri. Accept your heritage, even if you must hide it."

"I am Jack O'Neill of Othalla and Earth. I will not forget."

"Then it is time. Farewell, my son."

"Farewell, Father. You come visit me soon," he sniffled into Thor's shoulder then pulled away. "My soul aches with sadness."

"As does mine. We will be together again, Jack O'Neill. I will see you soon."

Their eyes locked for several seconds, Thor's large, black and unblinking, Jack's brown and full of unshed tears. Then Thor pressed the button that would send Jack to Earth, on the edge of a Minnesota town called Mission City. He was dressed only in the familiar pair of khaki brown pants that he always wore, his feet and chest bare.

"Bye," Jack whispered as the ship faded around him.

"I love you, son," Thor whispered to the empty ship.

TBC


	2. Becoming Human

**Becoming Human**

Earth is so beautiful, and alive, Jack thought to himself as he took his first steps on his Homeworld. The air, it felt so fresh and clean and crisp, not at all like the recycled air aboard the _Biliskner_. He felt so alive.

And the trees! Jack ran to the nearest tall tree he could find, leaning back to gaze up at the highest branches looming over him, and pressed his palm against the rough bark. He smiled at the sensation, and gazed around at the clear blue sky of Earth. "I am home, Father!" he shouted, knowing his father was not listening but compelled to tell someone, anyone, that he was there.

He had seen trees before but these were different. These were the trees of Earth. And the grass was so soft under his bare feet. He dropped to his hands and knees and smelled the earth, the scent of the land, allowing the unfamiliar aroma to fill his nostrils.

"It is so beautiful, Father," he said aloud. "So beautiful."

He stood up and looked around again. He knew he should do as he had been instructed and find the police station, and although he was excited about his new world he was sad that he would not be with his father everyday anymore. His chest ached and suddenly he didn't care about Earth, he just wanted Father. But he had to be brave.

"I am sorry, Father," he gasped. "I miss you already."

_I am here, my son._ His father's words seemed to drift along the wind, and he wasn't sure if he had really heard them or not, but they gave him strength. He lifted his head, feeling much braver now that he wasn't alone.

He marched towards the town where others like him, humans, were gathered in the streets or in their fabricated homes. His eyes took in all the sights, absorbing the information of his new surroundings, every detail at his disposal, missing nothing. The people, he counted thirteen, in front of their homes, tending to flowers, or walking down the street. Smaller humans, like him, rolling around on two wheel vehicles, steering with their hands that controlled the front wheel for guidance, moving forward by pumping their feet in circles which connected to a simple chain mechanism connected to the wheels. Fascinating.

"Hey, kid, are you crazy? It's freezing out here, put a shirt on, and get some shoes on your feet." He heard a strong, deep voice speaking the language that Father had told him these people called English. He was startled, he had never heard such a voice speaking his language, he had never truly heard a human voice before, aside from his own.

He turned to the man, his eyes wide. "Were you speaking to me?" he asked, seeing the man's gaze upon him.

"You see anyone else without shoes?"

Jack looked around, but he didn't know what shoes were, nor what a shirt was. "What are shoes?"

Apparently that was a mistake, because the man made a strange face that Jack was unable to read. He suddenly realized that he could not easily tell these people apart, they all looked so similar.

"You're kidding me, right?" the man asked. He pointed at Jack's bare feet, then his own. "Shoes, they go on your feet, to protect them. How do you not know what shoes are? And why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Jack decided to ignore the questions. "I am looking for the police station. Would you tell me where it is?"

"Why do you need the police?"

"I need the police station," he clarified. "I was instructed to go to the police station."

"By who?"

_Isn't it whom?_ Jack asked himself. "My parents are dead. I must find the police station."

The man said a word that Jack didn't understand then moved towards him to grab his elbow. "Are you okay?"

Looking down at the man's hand on his elbow, he replied, "I am uninjured. Will you tell me where the police station is?"

"Sure, kid. Matter of fact, I'll take you there myself. It's this way."

"Why are you touching me?" he asked curiously. The only Asgard to touch him was his father.

The man pulled his hand away quickly. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You did not. I was not expecting it."

"Oh. You really don't know what shoes are?"

"They protect your feet," he replied confidently.

"Right. I'll bet you're just in shock. What's your name?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge that information to you. You are not at the police station."

"Okay. Well, I'm Tate Summers."

Jack cocked his head to look up at the man as they walked. "Is not summer the name of one of the four seasons?"

"It's just a name. You can call me Tate."

"Tate," Jack repeated. He liked the name.

"My son's about your age, you must be in the same school, but I haven't seen you around before. His name is Jesse."

"Jesse? What is school?"

"For crying out loud," the man muttered and Jack repeated the words to himself, trying to understand what they meant. "Did you grow up in a barn or something?"

Jack wisely remained silent.

"I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean that. Okay, this is the police station, I'll walk you in there. And I'll stick around until you get things sorted out, okay?"

"That will not be necessary. Thank you for your assistance, Tate."

"You're awfully polite for a kid."

Jack began to panic, though outwardly he projected calm. "Awfully?" He had thought he was being very polite.

"I mean that in a good way. It's refreshing to get a little respect from a youth these days. Maybe you could teach some manners to some of the other boys."

This whole conversation was outside the realm of Jack's understanding. He looked blankly at Tate.

"Never mind, kid." Tate reached down for a small knob on the door, twisted it, and gave a light push. These doors did not slide open at the push of a button, Jack noted for later use and Tate waved him to go inside.

There was a human behind a strange table with white and yellow rectangles scattered atop it. The human had curly reddish hair and Jack got the feeling that there was something very different between this human and the one called Tate.

"Can I help you?" The voice reminded him of Heimdall.

Tate spoke before he could decide what to say. "This young man asked me to show him to the police station. Says his parents are dead."

"Oh dear. Thank you, Mr. Summers, we'll take care of him from here."

"I can stick around for a while. He, uh…he doesn't have any shoes. Doesn't seem to know what they are."

_Are they really that important?_ Jack looked down at his feet then lifted the right one to check out the calluses on the sole of his foot. "Does the skin not provide sufficient protection?" he asked.

The human behind the desk stared at him. "Let me get the sheriff, I think he'd like to talk to you."

As soon as the other human was gone Jack turned to Tate. "Why is that person different?"

"What do you mean?"

"He seems different. The body form, and the voice."

"He?" Tate spluttered. "You mean you've never seen a woman? What about your mom?"

"Mom? Do you mean mother?"

"Yeah, your mother."

"I never met my mother. Mother was a…woman?"

"Oh, Jeez, kid, you've had one messed up childhood. There are two kinds of people. Men and women. You're a man. A young man, or boy. I'm a man, too, and the person that just left, she's a woman."

"She?"

"Yes. She for a woman. And her instead of his, or him. Got it?"

"What makes her a woman?"

"Uh…That's something you'll figure out later in life."

"You would delay my knowledge? For what reason?"

"Uh, well, that's…There's just some things kids your age aren't supposed to know."

Jack thought about what he knew. He knew the Asgard were all considered the same and that his birth father was a man and his mother was a woman. He also knew the Asgard were unable to bear children. He would have asked the man if his theory was correct, but Tate seemed to be unnerved by his lack of knowledge. Apparently, there were cultural differences for which the Asgard had not thought to prepare him. It was the simple things that seemed to set him apart.

The woman returned with two other humans, one who he thought was probably a man, and the other walking beside him who Jack thought was probably a woman. But there was something different about the second one, the woman. There was something about her eyes, they looked so…

"You are sad," he stated sympathetically, understanding that emotion keenly.

Her eyes widened slightly and she stepped closer to him. "Yes, I am. I lost two people very close to me very recently."

Jack gazed up at her. "My tears of sadness were replaced with tears of happiness. It is odd to have the same physical reaction for such different emotions. I did not understand."

"But you're happy now?" the woman asked.

"I have no tears of any kind," he answered truthfully.

The man who had joined them was looking between Jack and the woman thoughtfully. He touched the woman on the elbow gently, urging her to step away so he could get closer to Jack. "I'm Sheriff Ryder. Can you tell me your name, son?"

Jack cocked his head to look up at the strange man. "I am not your son."

"I'm sorry, it's just an expression. What's your name?"

Jack glanced around at all the people in the room, unsure if he could trust them all, so he didn't say anything.

"Betty tells me your parents died. How are you holding up?"

Jack stared back at him blankly, then looked down at his feet. "By my legs," he answered the ridiculous question.

Sheriff Ryder smiled at him, and Jack was enthralled by the human reaction, recognizing it from his own experiences of smiling. He looked at the others and saw the same expression on all of their faces. That had to be a good sign, right?

"I meant…never mind. Would you like some water, or something to eat?"

"I am not in need of nourishment. I was told you would find a home for me. I wish to have a home, and a family."

The woman with the sadness in her eyes gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and innocent, and saw her battling the tears, trying valiantly to hold them back. He glanced around the room and realized that nobody was going to offer her a hug as his father had done for him, so he gave her one himself. It was awkward, he thought, since she was so much bigger than him and she was shaped differently than Father. But her arms wrapped around him as Father's had and she brought her head down to rest on top of his, her tears spilling down her face and into his hair.

"I am sorry you are sad," he told her calmly. "Father hugged me when I was sad. It made me feel better," he added to explain his actions.

She smiled at him through her tears as she pulled away from him. "Thank you. A hug was just what I needed. You have no family?"

"None by blood, of which I am aware."

Sheriff Ryder was thoughtful as he asked, "How long ago did your parents die?"

"I never knew my parents. They died the day I was born."

"Then…who's been taking care of you, if you don't have any family? And what happened to them?"

"They sent me here. To have a family."

Everyone in the room had a strange expression on their face that Jack was unable to identify, but it made him wary. Perhaps he had said too much. Thor had told him he may have to hide the truth about some things, so it was probably a good idea that he hadn't told them his name yet.

Sheriff Ryder knelt down on the floor beside him so they were eye to eye. Perhaps he thought Jack was intimidated by his height. "Look, kid, I need you to tell me the truth here." He looked over at Tate and said, "Tate, thanks for bringing him in, but I think we need a little privacy here. Mrs. MacGyver, if there's anything I can do for you or your father…"

"Your father will always be there for you," Jack said helpfully, thinking about what his own father had said.

She smiled at him. "Is that what your father told you?"

Jack smiled back at her. "Father is very wise."

"He must have loved you very much," she told him.

He tilted his head, confused. "Loved? I do not know that word."

She gasped again, her eyes wide, tears starting to form again. "You don't know what love is?"

"I do not understand the word. My first language is not English." Which was only partly true. Although Asgard was the first language he heard and understood, English was the first language he spoke. He was also fluent in Ancient, and had a good understanding of Goa'uld, but nobody on Earth could ever know that.

"Oh. Well, love is a feeling you have for someone special. When you're happy to be with someone. Like a father loves his son, and would do anything to make sure that his son is safe from harm. That he's happy."

Jack smiled in understanding, mentally finding the appropriate translation in Asgardian. "My father loves me. It is a special word."

"Yes, and it's a very special feeling," she added. "Sometimes love is hard to find, it's a rare treasure that should be guarded and protected, and never taken for granted."

Jack nodded at her wise words. "You have lost someone that you love. That is why you are sad."

"Yes," she confirmed, her voice sounding more like an Asgard than a human. "My husband and my mother were killed in a car accident."

"That is how my parents died as well. But I was saved by Father. Perhaps your father will save you as well, Mrs. MacGyver."

She smiled again, but the sadness did not truly leave her eyes. "Perhaps. I hope they find a good family for you. You're such a sweet boy."

Jack glanced at Sheriff Ryder, then back at Mrs. MacGyver. "We are both in need of a family," he stated.

Her eyes widened, and she cast her eyes towards Sheriff Ryder, who shook his head and said, "I'm afraid that's not an option yet, boy. Not until we figure out who you are and what happened to you. So I'm going to need you to answer some questions. Betty, go out and find him a shirt. Neil's about his size, you can drop by the house and pick up one of his. See if you can find some shoes while you're at it." He turned back to Jack. "If you could come with me young man, we can talk alone in my office."

Jack looked up at Mrs. MacGyver, wishing that she would stay with him.

"Would you mind if I waited out here? I'd love to speak with you again, if you don't mind," she said, and he thought he could discern compassion in her voice.

He grinned at her happily, wondering if humans possessed some form of telepathic link with regards to their emotions. "I would like that very much."

"Ellen." Sheriff Ryder warned, sensing that she was already becoming too attached to the mysterious young boy.

"It's alright, Sheriff. I know the law. But he's so young, he shouldn't be alone."

Jack checked the area, noting that the doors were all closed and there was little chance that anybody was listening in. There was just Mrs. MacGyver and Sheriff Ryder, the woman Betty having departed already to find him shoes and a shirt. "My name is Jack O'Neill," he announced, startling them both with his abrupt honesty. "I was born in Chicago, to William and Grace O'Neill. They died the day I was born. Father took me away to take care of me, there are no records that I was ever born. By your laws, I do not exist."

He waited for them to draw their own conclusions. Sheriff Ryder was the first to recover enough to ask the important questions. "Where is your father now, Jack?"

"He is gone. He sent me here."

"What was his name?"

"Father."

"Yes, what was his name?"

"His name was Father." He knew he couldn't reveal Thor's identity.

"Look, Jack. You seem like a smart, well-behaved kid and it doesn't look like you're any danger to yourself or others, so I'm going to be honest with you."

"Why would you want to deceive me otherwise?"

"I wouldn't. I'm just saying that I won't hold anything back because of your age, okay?"

"I would appreciate your honesty."

"What you're telling me…It's not something I can just take your word for. I'd like to help you out, but there's protocol I have to follow. There are rules, and I can't just hand you over to someone else to raise as their son, no matter how much I respect Mrs. MacGyver. Ellen, I know you and James lost your son when he was just a baby, and I know how hard that was on both of you but you can't…you can't just replace him."

"Why not?" she asked defiantly. "This boy says he doesn't exist on paper. He doesn't have a birth certificate, but my son did."

Sheriff Ryder's jaw dropped open and Jack would have sworn his eyebrows hit the ceiling. "Are you insane? Do you know how many laws, how many regulations you'd be breaking? It's practically a crime just thinking about it."

"You should not trouble yourself on my account," Jack said, afraid that Mrs. MacGyver was in trouble because of him. "I am rash and impulsive, I did not consider what harm I may be causing you with my request. But you were sad, I wished to replace that sadness, as my father did for me."

Sheriff Ryder stepped between him and Mrs. MacGyver, blocking his view of her. "Jack, how about you wait in my office for a few minutes? I need to discuss some things with Mrs. MacGyver."

Jack was led through a narrow hallway into a small room. He was excited when he recognized chairs, and eagerly sat down, rubbing his hand over the strange material of the chair. It almost looked like the bark of a tree, but smooth and shiny.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, Jack. Just relax, okay?"

Jack was too busy investigating the objects on the desk to notice the door close behind him. There were thin, rectangular sheets on the table which he noticed had writing on them. Thor had taught him to read all the languages he understood, but he had noticed that the humans he had spoken with so far used so many words he didn't understand that he was beginning to think it wasn't English at all. He knew Father expected him to continue his quest for knowledge on Earth, so he was paying close attention to everything, particularly their reactions and facial expressions, the inflections in their speech.

His hand drifted out to the desk and picked up a long, thin cylindrical object of its own accord, a habit he could never break despite several scoldings from Father. It was as though his hands facilitated his understanding of the world. His knowledge was tactile and practical, whereas the Asgard tended to be more academic and theoretical.

He grinned as he remembered the time that he had removed a crystal from the console aboard_ Biliskner_ in order to study it, causing the ship to pull out of hyperspace and nearly crash them into a sun. Father was not amused when his four year-old son then tossed the crystal at him where it bounced off his chest.

Although even toddler Jack could run faster than his Asgard father, the _Biliskner_ was well-equipped to track down and apprehend mischievous and troublesome youths. Jack had never once escaped a reprimand.

Now, in Sheriff Ryder's office his fingers studied the object in his hand. It seemed so simple and fragile and he wondered-

The object snapped in his hands, breaking in half and spilling a black liquid all over his skin.

He panicked. From previous experience he knew his blood was red when he pierced his skin and this…this was not red. Perhaps his body had changed when he returned to his Homeworld and black blood was normal. But it scared him.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, knowing that he had to get himself under control if he was going to be able to think logically. He wanted to call for Father, he wanted to go home, he didn't like it here anymore, but Father expected him to be brave and he needed to learn to be human. He had to be independent.

His breathing now under control, he sat and patiently waited for Sheriff Ryder to return to check up on him. He would know what to do. But how would he react to the fact that Jack had broken this strange object? What if it was important, or valuable? What if he refused to find a home for Jack because he broke things? Should he try to hide it, or be honest about it?

_Breathe. Breathe._ He calmed himself down again. It was doing him no good, all this panicking. He hadn't even been this afraid when Thor had engaged in battle with a strange new enemy that was arising in the Ida galaxy. Jack was only six, but he had taken navigational control of the ship while Thor communicated with the rest of the fleet to coordinate an attack, firing weapons as needed. He had been exhilarated, so caught up in the battle that he hadn't even considered the danger they were in, only that he had to help his people win the battle.

_It is a writing implement_, he finally realized, noting the stain on his hand matched the color of the writing on the sheets in front of him. The object had been placed on top of the sheet as well. So it wasn't blood on his hands, his skin hadn't even been pierced, he should have felt something if it had.

_I am primitive_, he thought to himself with a smile on his face. _I am the young of the young, it is no wonder that the Asgard refuse to make contact with the Tau'ri until we are wiser, if I am representative of the wisdom of my people. But I did figure it out eventually, that must be the potential Father saw in me._

He stood up and walked to the door. Both hands were covered in the sticky black liquid so he used his elbows to twist the knob on the door as he had observed Tate Summers do earlier. He pushed the door open, but stopped when he could hear Sheriff Ryder and Mrs. MacGyver talking about him.

"Ellen, you hardly even know the boy, and you're seriously considering breaking the law for him, to raise him as your son? It's only been a couple months since James died, I know you're going through a hard time right now but…I'm just not sure that you're entirely aware of what you're considering here."

"He's just a kid, Sheriff. He's a little boy, the same age my son would be if he had lived. And there's something special about him, I know you see it, too. He isn't dangerous, he's…he's…"

"He's been traumatized by something." Sheriff Ryder finished for her. "He's too calm, and the way he speaks. It's like he's in shock. At the very least he's hiding something. He's going to need some serious care, and I'm sorry, Ellen but…you're in no condition for that, not while you're still grieving for James and Celia."

She seemed on the verge of tears again, so Jack stepped out of the office and approached, his arms held out in front of him away from his body. "I apologize," he announced, alerting them to his presence. He held out both halves of the broken writing object. "I did not know it was so fragile. I did not mean to break it. I hope it was not important."

Their reactions took him by surprise and frightened him. He pulled his hands back to himself, clutching the broken object to his chest, transferring the black liquid to his clean, white skin. He was not sure what their reaction meant but it was loud and Father had explained that sometimes humans got angry and could hurt even those they care about.

"I am sorry," he said again, "It was an accident, do not be angry with me."

They suddenly stopped the strange noise and he was grateful. "We're not angry, Jack." Mrs. MacGyver's voice was reassuring as she came closer to him and gently held him by the shoulders. "It's okay, it's just a pen. It happens all the time, don't worry about it."

He looked up at her, trying to understand these unfamiliar facial expressions. "You were not angry?"

"No, of course not. We were laughing, and I'm very sorry we upset you."

His eyes bulged. "That was laughing?"

"You've never seen anybody laugh? What about your father?" she asked.

"Father did not laugh like that. Is that how I laugh? Father says I laugh a lot but I did not think I did…that."

"Are you making fun of our laughs?" She asked with what he was happy to recognize again as a smile.

"Fun? Make fun? Your laughs were not fun," he said, confused by the words.

Sheriff Ryder made that strange laughing sound again, but he tried to smother it with the back of his hand. Jack turned to him. "Have I offended someone?"

"No, Jack. I think you've made Mrs. MacGyver very happy. What do you say we go wash this ink off your hands?"

"Ink?"

"From the pen you broke. We use it to write on paper."

He nodded in understanding, filing the names away for future reference. "You are not angry that I broke your pen?"

"I'm not angry, Jack. Just don't do it again. This stuff's hard to get off your hands. It may stick around for a few days."

"Is it toxic?" he asked, concerned for his well-being.

"Uh, no, it won't hurt you. It just stains your skin."

_Like the tattoos of the Jaffa_, he thought to himself, remembering that these people did not know about the Jaffa or the Goa'uld. He made sure that he kept his hands away from his forehead. He would never bear the mark of a slave.

"Jack, are you okay?"

Jack was startled by Mrs. MacGyver's inquiry. "I am fine."

"You looked…never mind."

Jack let Sheriff Ryder lead him into a small room and guide his hands to a basin that seemed a little high to him. The other man twisted a knob and suddenly there was water flowing over Jack's fingers. He jerked his hands back in alarm.

"It's okay, Jack, it's just water. It'll warm up in a bit."

Tentatively, Jack allowed his hands to be guided back under the stream of water. The Asgard did not use water to clean themselves, they had other techniques for sterilization. Jack rather enjoyed the sensation of the warm liquid.

Twenty minutes later, freshly scrubbed and sporting faded black fingers and a splotchy chest Jack emerged from the small room and noticed that Betty had returned with the requested items, which Mrs. MacGyver was holding. He allowed her to help him into the shirt, knowing he would have struggled to figure it out on his first try. He had already made them uncomfortable with all the simple things that he didn't understand but they took for granted.

She told him to sit, guiding him to a chair near the wall, and she knelt in front of him, preparing to put the shoes on him. As she was trying to cover his feet with a cloth-like material he pulled his feet up and away from her, deciding that he didn't like anyone or anything touching his feet.

"Jack?"

That was another thing he didn't really understand. "Do you call everyone by their given name?"

She was taken aback at first. "Not everyone. Mostly friends, and children. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Yes, he wanted to say, but he didn't want to seem so sentimental. He rubbed his arm over his face, trying to stop an itch on his nose. "Only Father called me Jack. Or son. I thought it was my special name for us."

"Would you like us to call you something different? Is your name actually John?"

Jack frowned thoughtfully. "Before my birth father died he told Father my name was John. But then he said Jack several times. His final word was 'Jack,' so that is what I am called. If it would be your custom to call me Jack then I will be called Jack."

"You miss him, don't you?" she asked quietly, sensing his sadness.

"Father is all I have ever known. He was always there for me, and although I know he is still watching over me it is not the same."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"You are not at fault," he told her. "He brought me home. But it does not feel like home. My home is with Father."

"I know what you mean. Home is where the heart is."

Jack wondered about that. What was the significance of the heart? It pumped the blood through your body, was one of the many essential components of nearly all living beings, but what significance did it have in choosing a home? He would ask someone about it later. There were so many new things for him to learn, it was almost overwhelming.

"I do not wish to wear these shoes. My feet are sufficiently protected," he told her to change the subject.

"Okay, Jack. For now, but eventually that's going to have to change. You'll get used to them in time." She set the shoes aside and stood up.

Sheriff Ryder helped her to stand, holding her by the elbow. "Jack, I'd like you to wait here for a few minutes while Mrs. MacGyver and I finish our little talk. Betty will watch you, if you need anything just ask her. Try not to touch anything," he added with a short laugh.

"Yes, Sheriff Ryder." Jack knew a reprimand when he heard one. Betty was there to make sure he didn't break anything else.

They disappeared in the back office, leaving only Jack and Betty alone in the room. She smiled at him as he settled comfortably into the chair, his fingers itching to do something but he controlled the urge as Father had taught him.

He fell asleep.

TBC


	3. Jack O'Neill of Earth

**Jack O'Neill of Earth**

"Jack. Jack, wake up, kid."

Jack startled awake and blinked furiously to get his vision in focus. Having lived with the Asgard since birth he tended to keep his eyes open wide, blinking rarely, so his eyes were often sore when he first woke up or late in the day.

Mrs. MacGyver's maternal instincts kicked into gear seeing the wide-eyed innocence of the young Jack O'Neill. The kid was adorable and had that lost puppy look, his short blondish hair sticking up in unruly spikes, his big brown eyes blinking lazily, his mouth moving to say words his brain hadn't come up with yet.

"When was the last time you slept, Jack?" Sheriff Ryder asked.

Jack tilted his head to look up at him, not seeming to comprehend the words. They finally registered after a few seconds and he replied, "Not long ago. I sleep when I am unoccupied."

Sheriff Ryder smiled. "You mean bored."

"Father claims that only boring people get bored." He paraphrased what his father had told him, since Thor had actually been referring to an alien race that…well, they didn't do a lot. "Therefore, I was merely unoccupied as per your insistence."

All three humans marveled at the boy's vocabulary. Jack was a smart child. "Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore. Mrs. MacGyver has agreed that you can stay with her until we can find a new home for you."

"This will not be a permanent arrangement?" he asked sadly, wishing it were so he wouldn't have to worry about finding a home anymore.

"We can't talk about that now, Jack. I'm allowing this for a trial basis. I'll check in with you everyday, and if…well, we've got some options that…"

Jack smiled. "You are considering Mrs. MacGyver's suggestion. I would very much like the opportunity to be her son. Perhaps I would be Jack MacGyver?"

Betty's eyes went wide. "You can't seriously be considering…"

"Betty." Sheriff Ryder cut her off with a harsh whisper. "The boy doesn't exist on paper. Look at him. All he wants is a family. He's just a kid, for crying out loud."

Jack was beginning to like that phrase, even if it made no sense at all.

"I just need some time to verify his story. I'm going to check some records in Chicago, see what I can find out about the names he gave us for his parents."

"He said his first language wasn't English. He could be anyone. He could be a Soviet spy, for all we know," Betty argued.

"He's not a spy, Betty, he's just a kid. And stop talking crazy, why would the Soviet's send a kid to Minnesota?"

"To learn our language, and customs. They have to start them young to fit in with the population."

"He's not a spy," Mrs. MacGyver said confidently. "Jack, what is your first language?"

He knew he had to lie, but what if they asked him to speak it? "Latin," he told them, remembering the Earth derivation of the Ancient language.

"Nobody speaks Latin," Betty said, doubtfully.

"_I want my father_," he said in Ancient. "_Father knows many languages, his knowledge is superior to all humans of Earth._"

"That sure sounded like Latin to me," Mrs. MacGyver said with a smile. "The language of science."

"Seems to me the boy has an aptitude for the science of language as well," Sheriff Ryder joked. Jack thought the twist of words was humorous, but he didn't say anything.

"I don't like this, Sheriff," Betty was saying, shaking her head slightly.

While she was voicing her concerns Jack walked up to the table she sat behind, studying the objects on it, particularly the big blockish instrument that had little squares with English letters on them. There was a sheet of what they had called paper sticking out of it, so he pulled it back to see if there was writing on it.

"A writing device," he guessed out loud. "You press the letters here and it transfers the…ink…to the paper." He indicated the keyboard with a finger. "How does it work?" he asked, looking up at her with hopeful eyes, openly curious.

The question took her by surprise, but she showed him the different mechanisms, and demonstrated its function by typing on the keyboard.

"It appears to be malfunctioning," he stated, noting the trouble she was having aligning the rod at the top which moved left to right as she typed. "Would you like me to fix it for you?"

She stared back at him, her eyes wide. "You know how to fix a typewriter?"

He cocked his head slightly. "I work well with my hands. It is a simple repair, all you need is some kind of string or ribbon with the proper tensile strength to guide the top part."

"Jack, have you ever even seen a typewriter before?" Mrs. MacGyver asked.

"No." He didn't tell her that he considered the design to be extremely primitive, and he could probably make a more efficient device from scratch.

"And you figured that all out just by looking at it?"

"Yes. I like to build things." He remembered when Thor first presented him with his own 'toy room'. In it were several devices taken from Earth that had been discarded by others. Jack had spent many hours trying to figure out their function and repair them. Thor had jokingly called him the Supreme Mechanic of the Asgard Fleet once he realized that Jack was not only fixing devices that he knew nothing about, but was also creating new ones. The fact that he could efficiently repair and perform maintenance on key components of the ship was also a contributing factor to the honorary title.

"Jack, have you ever had your intelligence tested?" Sheriff Ryder asked.

Jack thought that was a ridiculous question and guessed that he had misinterpreted the intent. "Is not everything we do a test of our mental capacities?"

"I meant…are you a genius? Are you smarter than most kids your age?"

"I have never met another…kid…my age. I would not know how to measure their intelligence. Father claims I am advanced. He says I am special," he added with a hint of pride, comforted by his father's kind words of praise and love. "I like to learn, to experience."

"What does it matter how smart he is?" Mrs. MacGyver asked. "He's just a boy looking for a home. He deserves a chance, like anyone else. You can't just turn him over to the government. You know what the system does to boys like him."

Jack was concerned by her statement. "The system?"

"Don't you worry about it Jack," Sheriff Ryder said gently. "I'll think of something."

Jack smiled. "You will allow me to be Mrs. MacGyver's son?"

"Maybe."

"Sheriff!" Betty exclaimed.

"Betty, you of all people should understand this."

"You're talking about breaking the law, Sheriff, for someone you met an hour ago."

"I'm talking about giving a little boy a loving home."

"Please do not argue over me," Jack pleaded. "I do not want to cause any problems for anyone. I just want to help people."

"Help people?" Betty inquired suspiciously.

He couldn't tell her why he was really on Earth, to learn the ways of the Tau'ri so that he may understand how best to fight the war against the Goa'uld and prepare his people for exploring the galaxy. It was a life he did not question, nor did he fear the magnitude of the task. It was simply who he was destined to be, because he knew what was out there, all the human suffering, and he had to do something about it. The Asgard had raised him as one of their own, to fight their battles, and he had learned from them what it meant to help people. So he accepted his burden willingly, knowing it was the right thing to do.

But he could not tell them that.

"War is not the only means for helping people," he said confidently. "There is much we can do in our everyday lives to improve our quality of life. I wish to help my people."

"Sounds like a Russian to me," Betty said softly. "Talking about his people."

"I speak of the people of Earth," Jack said calmly, knowing that there were many factions among the Tau'ri that still fought petty wars that achieved very little on the grand scale. "We are all brothers, are we not? We are all human, we are all equal. I make no distinction in my heritage. I am Jack O'Neill of Earth." _And I hope you do not realize that I am also from another planet, which is why I have foolishly made that distinction. And if brother is for a man, do they also make a distinction for a woman? Is that important? Maybe I should not speak so much until I understand their speech patterns._

"That's very open-minded and noble of you, Jack," Sheriff Ryder praised, easing Jack's mind considerably. "Not a lot of people think the way you do."

Jack remained silent, taking his own advice.

"Jack, I don't want you to worry about what happens to you, okay? But there are some things I need to check out about you before we can make any real decisions. I need to know what happened to your father."

Jack stared up at him but didn't say anything because he didn't want to have to lie.

"Did something bad happen, Jack? Is that why he sent you here?"

"It was too dangerous for me to remain with him," he said softly. If the Goa'uld had found out the Asgard were training a human of the Tau'ri to fight their battles against the Goa'uld, there was no telling what the consequences would be to the Protected Planets Treaty. And the threat of the Replicators was very real. The entire Council was focused on the new enemy and Supreme Commander Thor could not be expected to take care of a human child in the midst of a battle. So technically, he wasn't lying.

"Was he sick?"

"I do not understand that word."

The man hesitated before offering an alternative definition. "Ill. Hurt, injured. In bad health."

"I do not want to answer all your questions. My father is not here. That is all you need to know. If you will not help me then I will find someone who will." He spoke calmly, without emotion, as though he didn't care what their decision was. Deep down, he liked the idea of being Mrs. MacGyver's son, but he would never use emotions to influence their decision. That was not the Asgard way.

"Okay, Jack. That's enough for now. I'm going to escort you and Mrs. MacGyver to her home, and see if we can get you settled in for the night. Until we know what's going to happen, I don't want you talking to anybody else. I want you to do exactly what Mrs. MacGyver tells you to do. I'll be headed out to Chicago tonight to see what I can find on your parents but I'll be back tomorrow to check in on you, okay?"

Jack nodded his head, maintaining eye contact with Sheriff Ryder.

Sheriff Ryder turned to Betty and held her gently by the arm. "Betty, I need you to do me a favor. Keep this to yourself. I promise I'll think this through, and we'll get to know him a bit before we make any decisions but…Please, don't do anything to take away our options. Can you do that for me?"

"It's against the law. What you're asking…I won't say anything. But I don't like it."

"Thank you."

Jack could understand from their discussion that whatever they were planning to do to help him might be against the rules of their government. They were all making a sacrifice to help him. He didn't know how to thank them, especially Betty since she seemed reluctant but was willing to give him a chance. He decided to focus on his own comfort and hope that she would sympathize with his situation and not feel so badly about doing what he considered to be the right thing to do. Technically, he was not being emotional.

He tugged awkwardly at the shirt, irritated that it was making him itch. "Do I have to wear this garment? My reproductive organs are sufficiently concealed without it."

He could swear he saw their faces turn a darker shade of red, before Mrs. MacGyver shouted, "Jack!"

He gazed at her with wide, curious, and thoroughly innocent eyes. "What?"

"Jack, you can't...say things like that. Not in public."

He didn't really understand what she meant, but he nodded his head. "My apologies." It felt like the time he had been running through the halls of Othalla and accidentally knocked over Commander Aegir when he rounded a corner too fast. He had never heard an Asgard scream before.

"Come on." Sheriff Ryder grabbed him gently by the shoulder and guided him to the door, picking up the shoes Jack didn't want to wear on the way. "Let's get you settled in with Mrs. MacGyver. We can worry about any faux pas' with our customs later on."

_Foe paws? _"Thank you, Sheriff Ryder. I appreciate all you are doing for me."

"No problem, Jack. Just behave while I'm gone."

"I will. Farewell, Betty," he bowed his head respectfully to her as he passed on his way to the door.

"Bye, Jack. It was nice to meet you."

"It was nice to meet you, as well. I apologize that my presence has made you uncomfortable."

"No, it isn't you, Jack. It's just the situation. I'm sorry if I seemed a little harsh."

"You are doing what you believe is right. There is no shame in that. And I would be honored to repair your typewriter."

"Thank you, Jack."

He allowed himself to be propelled out the door by Sheriff Ryder's guiding hand on his upper arm. Once they were outside he resumed his watchful attentiveness, wanting to see everything, but the touch on his arm, and the shirt itself, were too distracting. "Would you please remove your hand from my body, Sheriff Ryder?"

He was grateful when the hand disappeared from his arm, and he was free to turn about in circles as they walked, his eyes wide and curious. He noticed Sheriff Ryder and Mrs. MacGyver sharing looks with each other, and he was sure they were able to read each other's faces as though they were having a silent conversation. He would have to learn to discern the subtle clues in human facial expressions if he wanted to communicate with his people on the same level.

They walked in silence, and Jack was more than satisfied by that. He didn't feel like answering any more questions until he had a better understanding of humans. Thor had not prepared him well at all. Or maybe he had just not understood all the knowledge that had been imparted to him because he had no frame of reference, or it had seemed unimportant to him.

They had been walking for a while, but he made sure to memorize the path they took so he would know how to return to the police station if he needed to speak with Sheriff Ryder again. Or if there was an emergency. It was just good tactical sense to know the territory. Father had said he was a natural strategist.

He was just starting to get restless, wanting to run ahead and see what was up there, when they stopped him in front of one of the dwellings, guiding him up a small path and through a gate made of metal wires which swung open. There was a set of stairs leading up to the door, and he climbed up them excitedly, anxious to explore the house where he was being quartered.

Mrs. MacGyver led them inside, shoving the door open and allowing him to enter before her. He stepped inside and looked around, his eye catching on a two-dimensional visual representation of two humans, one of which resembled Mrs. MacGyver. He walked up to it and picked it up off the shelf, taking a good look at it.

"That's me and my husband," she told him sadly. "It was taken the day of our wedding."

He didn't know what a wedding was, but he could see that they were both smiling so he knew they had both been happy. He set it back down without a word, but inclined his head respectfully for the memory of her husband.

She had tears in her eyes again, but she was smiling at him. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to go set up your room for you. Make yourself at home."

He glanced up at Sheriff Ryder, hoping he might explain what she meant but the man was inspecting the house himself, for what, Jack didn't know. Maybe he was doing a threat assessment.

"Mrs. MacGyver is a woman, correct?" Jack asked forthrightly, wanting the reassurance. "Like my mother?"

Sheriff Ryder hadn't been present when he had his misunderstanding about Betty, so he was more than shocked by the innocent question. "Yes, she's a woman. Have you…have you ever seen a woman before?"

"No. How do you distinguish one from a man?"

Jack couldn't read the expression on Sheriff Ryder's face but it didn't look like he was comfortable with the inquiry. He figured it wouldn't be a great idea to talk with Mrs. MacGyver about it either.

"Uh, there's lots of little things, once you know what to look for. The hair, facial features, what they wear, their voices. Don't worry, you'll figure it out."

Jack didn't really understand their method of delayed knowledge. Whenever he asked Thor or another Asgard a question they always answered it promptly and succinctly so there could be no misinterpretation. How was he supposed to learn if nobody would fully answer his questions?

His hands drifted lightly over the objects in the room, not really touching anything though he felt the compulsion to do so. He liked to have something in his hands at all times, to keep busy, exploring, but it might be considered impolite to handle the personal objects in this home. That didn't mean he couldn't look.

Mrs. MacGyver returned shortly while he was inspecting a large wooden object hanging on the wall by the door, with a pendulum inside that was swinging back and forth. It had the numbers 1 through 12 in a circle and two sticks spinning around the center point, at different speeds. "Is this a timekeeping device?" he asked her.

"Yes, it is. We call it a clock. Can you read time?"

"Not by this means. Will you teach me?" He had learned the basic increments of Earth time, but he had never seen a clock.

"Of course I will. But first, I want you to see your room and tell me if you like it."

She held out her hand towards him expectantly and he stared at it blankly, unsure what she wanted. After a moment she withdrew the hand and started walking up a larger set of stairs to a second deck. "I can't tell you how happy I am to have you here, Jack."

"Why not?" he asked before he could stop himself.

He decided that he liked her laugh. "It's an expression, dear. I'm very happy you're staying with me."

He followed her into the room at the top of the stairs and looked around carefully.

"Where will I be sleeping?" he asked, not seeing any mats on the floor, though there was a flat, elevated surface in the middle of the room that he thought might be used for sleeping.

Mrs. MacGyver glanced at Sheriff Ryder who was standing in the doorway, but she pointed Jack to the object in the center of the room. "On the bed, Jack."

He moved towards it and pressed his hands down to climb onto it, but was surprised when it gave under his hands. It was soft. He sat on the edge and nearly fell into the gravity well created by his slight weight, his arms flailing to steady himself. He looked up at Mrs. MacGyver, surprised.

"Do you like it?" she asked, concerned by his reaction.

"It is very soft."

"Yes, it is," she agreed.

"May I not sleep on the floor?" he asked.

"The floor? You've been sleeping on the floor your whole life?"

"We had a sleeping mat, and a sheet. Father would say I was capable of sleeping anywhere, even in the middle of battle."

"Battle?" her voice rose to a higher pitch and he thought she sounded exactly like Heimdall.

"It is an expression." He remembered her words and quickly devised his defense.

He was saved from further explanation when Sheriff Ryder asked, "What do you think, Jack? Do you like it?"

"The accommodations are more than acceptable. I appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. MacGyver." He struggled to climb off the bed, but landed gracefully on both feet, standing up tall.

Mrs. MacGyver gave him a smile and walked out of the room, telling him to take his time and to come downstairs when he was ready.

Sheriff Ryder was still smiling at the formality of Jack's response. "So what have you learned?" he asked, realizing that Jack had been studying everything about his unfamiliar surroundings.

Jack looked up at him with wide eyes. "A woman is more agreeable to the senses than a man," he replied innocently.

Perhaps Sheriff Ryder's laugh was not so bad, either.

TBC


	4. Becoming MacGyver

**Becoming MacGyver**

Jack had spent the last two days with Mrs. MacGyver in her home. To his dismay, they talked a lot, but he managed to circumvent her attempts at learning about his past without revealing anything important. Now that they were alone she seemed a lot more willing to answer his questions as honestly as possible, and had assured him that whenever he didn't understand something he shouldn't be ashamed to ask her to explain it for him. She also warned him about certain behavior that he should avoid and he paid special attention to her lessons.

She made him wear the shoes, despite his lengthy protests. She was patient with him though, explaining their purpose and how he would need to wear them in public and it was only practical that he become accustomed to them gradually.

By the time Sheriff Ryder returned from Chicago Jack could almost discern Mrs. MacGyver's various facial expressions, and he could probably even recognize her in a crowd of other humans. Not that he had actually seen any other humans. Until these humans knew what they were going to do with him they didn't want to risk the rest of the town knowing who he was. She had explained that if he was going to pass as her biological son then his true identity would have to remain a secret.

When Sheriff Ryder appeared at the door Jack wasn't sure what to expect. The man seemed somber, reminding him of the Asgard council as they discussed the threat of the Replicators. They hadn't known he was present, he snuck in because he knew his father was worried and he wanted to understand why. When he had been discovered they didn't even punish him for his curiosity. They allowed him to take the chair beside Thor and even listened to his account of the battle he had helped his father to win. They had been impressed with his awareness of events and his observations on the Replicators, and he had seen the pride on Thor's face as he gave his report.

He missed his father.

Sheriff Ryder didn't speak right away as Mrs. MacGyver invited him in. Before he arrived she had just started preparing lunch while Jack had been reading a book about the Great War. He had been fascinated by the book itself, how the pages were bound together, but he quickly became engrossed with the story it contained within its pages. It seemed to be a historical document, much like the lessons Thor had provided for him about the history of Earth, but it included conversations between the men and focused on a single individual's life, someone who was at the frontlines of the battles.

He was so caught up in the story he had lost track of time and hadn't set the book down since he picked it up that morning. He hadn't even realized there was someone at the door until Sheriff Ryder was standing in front of him saying hello.

Jack blinked at the sudden, unexpected presence then he smiled when he realized who it was. "Sheriff Ryder. Greetings," he said formally and set the book aside, memorizing what page he was on so he could come back to it.

"Jack. Have you had a good time with Mrs. MacGyver?"

"Mrs. MacGyver is very knowledgeable. She is helping me to adapt to your culture." He glanced over at the book he had been reading. "I became distracted with my learning. Your literature is very entertaining."

"Yes, it is, I suppose. But are you sure you should be reading something that advanced?"

Jack frowned, not really understanding how the book could be considered advanced when it was obviously a more primitive way to store information than the ship's computers. Perhaps it was the information itself to which the man was referring. He decided not to respond, having found that silence solved a lot of problems.

"He likes to read, Sheriff," Mrs. MacGyver responded for him. "He's been reading that book for hours and hasn't asked what a single word meant. And from the way he speaks I think we can both agree that he has a well-rounded vocabulary."

Was that pride in her voice? "What did you learn in Chicago?" he inquired.

Sheriff Ryder sat down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table, his elbows resting on the table in front of him. He took a deep breath, then looked over at Jack. "Your story checks out, Jack. The medical exam on your mother indicates that she was pregnant but…there was no evidence of delivery…that you were actually born. It's like you just disappeared, and I guess there's some truth to that. Do you know how it happened?"

He did. Thor had used the ship's transporters to beam him out of his mother's womb. There was no way he could explain that. He blinked as he looked at the older man. "I do not remember my birth."

Sheriff Ryder's lips curled up slightly in a smile. "Of course not. Your father didn't tell you?"

"It was not a frequent topic of conversation."

"I suppose not. Look, Jack." He sounded like he wanted to add something else but couldn't figure out the best way to say it.

"Are you going to hand me over to the system now?" he asked bravely.

Mrs. MacGyver dropped into the chair beside Sheriff Ryder, and placed her hands over his. "Please."

Jack didn't understand what was happening, but both human's gazes were locked and once again they seemed to be conversing with just their eyes. Finally, Sheriff Ryder dropped his gaze to the table, squeezed Mrs. MacGyver's hands gently and turned to Jack. "This isn't going to be easy for any of us, Jack. We're going to have to rely on each other to pull this off without anyone asking the important questions. But I think it's the right thing to do." He sat up straight in the chair, and thrust his hand out towards Jack. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacGyver."

Mrs. MacGyver let out a sob as Jack awkwardly accepted Sheriff Ryder's hand. As he fully understood the implications of what was happening Mrs. MacGyver threw her arms around Sheriff Ryder's neck and hugged him tightly, crying into his shoulder. He let go of Jack's hand and returned her hug while Jack watched them curiously. Things were sure going much better than he had expected. His first try out and already he had a family and people risking their lives for his well-being.

He didn't have a long time to bask in the feeling before he felt Mrs. MacGyver's arms around him, holding him tightly enough that he found it difficult to breathe. But he wasn't about to complain. After all this time, he finally had a mother.

He just wished he could introduce her to his father.

"These are tears of happiness, I hope," he said as she finally pulled away.

She wiped at her face with a huge smile that reached her eyes, and he was startled that he could read the emotion that shone so strongly from her. "Yes, honey, tears of happiness. You're my son."

"Jack MacGyver?" he inquired, unsure if he would get to keep his first name. He was proud to be an O'Neill, had never planned to change his name, but he understood he would have to if their plan was to work.

Sheriff Ryder responded with a shake of his head. "No, I'm sorry, Jack. In order for this to work, you need to have the name that's on the birth certificate."

He frowned, upset that he would have to change his entire name. It was almost as if he was creating an entirely new identity for his life among the Tau'ri. "Then what will my name be?"

Mrs. MacGyver smiled happily as she clasped his hands, stroking his wrist with her thumb as she told him.

He stared at her blankly. He blinked. He blinked again, then repeated the name.

She nodded, still smiling.

"Is there a problem, Jack?" Sheriff Ryder asked.

Jack stared up into the happy face of Mrs. MacGyver and saw her expression slip into one of concern. "No problem," he tried to reassure them.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

He swallowed hard. "I do not wish to upset you, Mother." Her eyes went wide when she heard him call her that, but then she smiled broadly, the happiness clearly expressed on her face.

"It's okay, honey. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

He nodded his head, not breaking her gaze. "I am unfamiliar with." He stopped abruptly when he was about to say 'human names'. "American names," he finished. He frowned slightly as he tried to be polite. "The name…" he didn't dare say it again.

"What about it?" she asked, concerned.

He faced her bravely. "I am not fond of it. As I am Jack rather than John, may I not go by something else?"

Sheriff Ryder's face went red, and Jack thought he looked like he was trying not to laugh. He couldn't read the expression on Mrs. MacGyver's face.

"I did not wish to offend you, Mother. I am honored that you would allow me to take the name of your son. Perhaps I will grow accustomed to the name." He doubted it, even before he said it.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he was relieved that she was smiling at him. "It's okay. It is unusual. And I can understand that you don't really want to part with your own name."

He nodded silently.

"We can call you something else, but officially, it will have to be your first name. How about Mac?" she suggested.

His face brightened at the idea. "It is similar to Jack. I like it. I am accustomed to being called by my last name."

"Okay, then." Sheriff Ryder stood up from the table. "Mac. I have a ton of paperwork to do and quite a few laws to break. I'll be back tomorrow to help you work out a cover story, Ellen. You should probably think about what you're going to tell Harry."

"I'm going to tell him he's a grandfather. He'll take it in stride, he always does. I can't thank you enough, Tom. You're taking a big risk for us and…I can't thank you enough."

"It's all right, Ellen. You don't have to thank me. Like you said, we're doing the right thing. You'll make a wonderful mother." He hugged her and placed his lips against her cheek. Jack watched the unfamiliar action with interest. Finally, they pulled apart and Sheriff Ryder turned to Jack. "Mac, be good for your mother, you hear? She's a good woman."

"Yes, Sheriff Ryder. Thank you for your assistance."

"It was my pleasure, Mac. I'll see you tomorrow. You two have fun tonight and Ellen? Be careful."

"I will be." She smiled over at Jack. "Mac."

He smiled back at her, wondering how he had ever been so lucky. "Mother."

"You can call me 'Mom,' honey. And no more of this 'Mrs. MacGyver' business. It's Mom, or Ellen."

He nodded. "Mom."

There were those tears of happiness in her eyes, again. He liked being the one to put them there.

--

Thor had been alive for many millennia, he had experienced much in that time, great triumph and greater loss and yet he had never felt this…sad. He was alone aboard his ship, orbiting a planet ignorant of his existence except for one special human, one lonely boy: his son.

Thor had never thought an Asgard could feel depression since their chemical systems were strictly regulated but he found it difficult to do anything but watch over his son, listening in over the device's communication link planted in his son's hand and monitoring his vital systems.

"Jack." He said quietly to his empty ship, needing to speak the name of his son, wondering if he had made a mistake in allowing himself to become so attached to the young boy.

He watched the tracking monitors as they began to change while simultaneously the life signs accelerated slightly. Jack was on the move.

He waited patiently, wondering where his son was going, realizing that he was alone and hoping he was trying to make contact.

Fifteen Earth minutes later he felt his heartbeat flutter as Jack's voice called out over the link, "Father?"

Thor quickly checked to make sure Jack was still alone then he shifted a crystal on the console in front of him and seconds later there was his beloved son.

"Father!" Jack shouted happily with a smile and leapt into Thor's open arms, hugging him tightly around the waist. "Father," he said again into Thor's neck, happy tears dropping onto Thor's shoulder.

"My son." Thor sighed into the embrace, equally as comforted as Jack seemed to be. "Jack. You are well?"

"I miss you, Father. But I am learning much from the Tau'ri." He looked straight into Thor's unblinking eyes. "I love you, Father."

Thor blinked to hide his emotion. "I love you as well, son."

Jack smiled brilliantly. "Then you must visit often. As long as you are available."

"We must be sensible, Jack. I will not put your future with the Tau'ri at risk. Do not worry, everything will be fine. Now. Tell me what you have learned. Have you enjoyed your time among other humans?"

Jack spent the next four hours telling Thor everything that had happened in the last few days, including his isolation with Ellen MacGyver and her decision to accept him as her son. He explained the planned deception, that he was 'Mac' MacGyver and had been kidnapped when he was a baby and only now returned to his rightful mother when she had believed him to be dead for all those years.

They sat side by side in Thor's command chair, and as Thor listened to his son relating his many recent adventures he remembered the last seven years with the boy. A tiny baby curled up in his lap, crawling across the deck, a toddler stumbling through the halls, always exploring, his first words Thor and 'Bilsker,' his first time speaking with the council, allowing Heimdall to study him and take samples when he was old enough to give consent and understand that he was helping his father's race, sitting brave and calm on the deck while the _Biliskner_ engaged in battle with a Goa'uld that had broken the Protected Planets Treaty, piloting the ship in the battle with the Replicators.

And then it was time to say goodbye again.

"I will sneak away next week, Father. You will be here?" Jack pleaded with the question.

"I will be here. But you must remember I still have my duties as Supreme Commander. I cannot remain here indefinitely."

"I understand. The Galaxy comes first."

"You come first, my son. You are my universe, Jack O'Neill. I have great hopes for you."

Jack smiled at his father, feeling warmth and what he now knew to be love flow through him. "But first I must learn the ways of the Tau'ri. We are a free people, and we will bring freedom to others."

"You have learned well, my son. Enjoy your time with them. Be safe."

"Always." He hugged his father one more time then backed away to allow himself to be transported back to Earth.

TBC


	5. New Family

**New Family**

"Mac, honey, how do you feel about meeting some other children your age?"

Jack had been reading a book about physics that Sheriff Ryder had given him on his last visit, but he set it aside as his mother Ellen walked into the living room with both their lunches. He kept his expression neutral as he replied, "I would like to meet other people."

In all honesty, he was thrilled at the opportunity to make contact with other humans. He had been locked away with Ellen MacGyver for the past week while they worked out the details of their cover story for him becoming MacGyver. Most of the other people in town knew that Ellen didn't have a son, that he had died shortly after he was born eight years ago, so it would take some convincing for them to believe that he had actually been abducted and finally returned after so many years. Jack had only just turned seven years old, but he was smart for his age and they knew he could pull off the extra year.

Word was already spreading through town that he was alive and well, and that he was becoming reacquainted with his birth mother while dealing with the trauma of his captivity. The Sheriff was keeping watch on the house so that they weren't bothered by well-wishers and was handing out not-so-subtle warnings that the MacGyvers were not to be disturbed.

Ellen placed the two plates on the kitchen table and Jack moved over to take his seat, while she sat across from him. "Tomorrow, Sheriff Ryder is going to bring his son Neil and his friend Chuck by the house. They're good boys, I'm sure you'll have a great time with them."

He bit into his sandwich to hide the smile of anticipation at meeting other children.

He was still getting used to human food, though he thoroughly enjoyed every bite. The taste was much more pleasurable to his palate than the Asgard food cubes he had grown up on, and it had taken a little bit of adjusting to his digestive system. He had experienced food like this before, just not on a regular basis. The Asgard had prepared him for his journey back to Earth, and knowing that he wouldn't always have access to their energy-efficient nourishment, Thor had synthesized the proper foods that were common among human cultures. However, now that he had a comparison, he realized that his synthesized meals had been rather bland, and the Asgard food cubes had been downright horrific. Ellen's rations were much more enjoyable.

"What are our plans for today?" he asked once he had swallowed his mouthful of sandwich.

He was getting much better at reading her expressions, and he thought she looked a little nervous. "I thought you might like to meet your grandfather."

He perked up at the idea. They had decided that from now on they would behave as though he really were her son that had been taken from her so long ago. This would help him get into his role as her son, and referring to her father as his grandfather was only a small example of their decision. "Will he accept me as his grandson?"

Ellen smiled across the table. "I'm sure he will, sweetie. He's going to love you."

Jack wasn't too sure about that, but he had no reason to doubt her. "When will he arrive?"

"He'll be here in a couple hours. You can take a nap after lunch until he arrives."

He wasn't particularly tired but he acquiesced to her suggestion, stretching out on the small couch once he had finished his sandwich, his book balanced on his chest. After a few pages, he felt his eyelids grow heavy and he was soon asleep.

Ellen sat down in the chair across from him and watched him sleep, feeling more at peace than she had since her husband died several months ago. She had loved Jack almost from the moment she saw him, and had no reservations about him being her son. He had brought meaning and love back to her life, after it had been so brutally ripped from her when her husband James and her mother died last December. Jack was charming and intelligent and curious and was so naïve in some ways that it made life interesting, to say the least. Yesterday, Jack had admitted that he had never seen a woman before arriving at the police station, so they had spent a good couple hours looking through pictures so he could get a basic understanding of what set them apart.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard loud footsteps outside, walking up to the door, and she knew it was her father. She rushed over to the door to let him in, but he had already shoved it open and was crossing the threshold. He smiled at her, his eyes perpetually sad since he lost his wife, and was about to say something when she lifted her hand to her lips, motioning for him to remain silent. He looked at her like she was deranged, but closed his mouth.

As silently as possible, she guided him into the living room where Jack was still asleep on the couch, curled up on his side, his physics book still clutched loosely in his hands. Her father looked at the boy in shock, but he let her guide him out of the room so they could talk.

Once they were out of earshot, he demanded in a gruff voice, "Who is that boy, Ellen?"

She straightened her shoulders, bracing for a fight. "He's my son." Before he could ask if she had lost her head, she continued. "He's an orphan, Harry, he didn't have anywhere else to go." She explained what had happened at the police station, and what the Sheriff had done so that she could look after him. She knew her father would be outraged, but his outburst was stopped by the tears in her eyes as she exclaimed, "He's just a boy. I had to do this, Dad. Please, wait until you meet him. You'll love him."

He shook his head, sadly. "Ellen, honey, the world doesn't work this way. You can't just adopt every child who needs a family."

"I'm not adopting every child. I'm adopting Jack. The entire town already knows about him, you can't change anything. He's my son now, you'll just have to get used to it. And I expect you to treat him like the grandson he is."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he sighed, giving a brief nod of acceptance. She smiled, tears brimming in her eyes, and enveloped him in a huge, grateful hug. "Thank you, Harry. Come on, I'll introduce you."

She pulled him back to the living room, expecting to have to wake Jack up from his nap, but he was already awake, sitting up on the couch reading his book. He looked over at them when they entered the room and stood up, setting the book back down on the couch.

"Mac, honey, this is Harry, your grandfather. Harry, this is-" she introduced him by his new first name.

Both grandfather and grandson cringed at the name. They faced each other silently, sizing up the other. Finally, Jack broke the silence. "You do not approve of me."

Harry and Ellen were both stunned by his forthrightness. Ellen hurried over to his side, placing her hand on his arm. "No, honey, it isn't you. It's just the situation. I'm sure once he gets to know you you'll be the best of buds."

He blinked at her. "Buds? What are buds?"

"Buddies. Friends. You'll get along great. Just give each other a chance."

Jack looked up at Harry. "I am honored to have a grandfather. I would like it very much if we could be friends. Please do not be angry with Ellen MacGyver for allowing me to be her son."

Harry raised his eyebrows, intrigued by the young boy's manners. "I'm not angry with her," he assured him. "I don't like that she's breaking the law but…I guess I can understand her reasons." There was an awkward silence, before he asked, "What are you reading?"

Accepting the peace offering, Jack picked up the book and handed it to Harry. "Sheriff Ryder gave it to me. I like to know how things work."

"Physics, huh? I don't suppose most boys your age are into things like this. Do you understand any of it?"

"Yes. It is not as technical as some of the other resources I have read, but it is more fun." He opened it and pointed out a page near the beginning. "This chapter is explaining the physics of an athletic competition that is common in some regions of the United States and Canada. It is called hockey."

"You've never played hockey?" Harry asked, skeptically.

"No," Jack replied simply. "I would very much enjoy the opportunity to play hockey someday."

Harry stared at him for a moment, then looked over at Ellen who was watching him hopefully. "I can teach you, if you like. But first you need to learn how to skate on the ice." He glanced at Ellen again with a small smile. "What do you say we take the boy out for his first lesson?"

Ellen nodded her head vigorously, smiling brilliantly. "Yes. What do you think, Mac? Are you ready to learn how to skate?"

He grinned up at them both. "Definitely. Does this mean that we are friends?" he asked Harry.

Harry nodded briefly. "Sure, Bud. You are my only grandson. And for the record…I do approve of you."

Ellen rushed forward and embraced her father. "Thanks, Dad. This means a lot to us." She pulled away and saw Jack smiling up at them, and couldn't help but wrap her arms around him as well. "And you are just the most amazing boy I have ever met. He's a real charmer, isn't he Dad?"

Harry scoffed at the idea, but deep down, he couldn't deny it.

--

Jack sat on a bench outside the ice skating rink while Ellen helped him put on a pair of skates and laced them up. He hadn't thought about the particulars of ice skating which involved binding his feet in these hollow carcasses. He could barely walk with the shoes she had given him, how was he expected to walk with these knives on his feet?

Eventually, Ellen stood up and offered him a hand to help him stand. He accepted the offer and pulled himself to his feet, only to have his ankle give on him and he fell to the side. Harry, wearing skates as well, came up to his other side so that Jack was between them, and he was able to stand up straight. "This is awkward," Jack admitted.

"I'll bet it is," Ellen agreed, then leaned across to whisper to Harry. "Jack has never even worn shoes before. Maybe this was a bad idea."

"Nonsense," Harry said gruffly, seemingly unfazed by the insight into Jack's prior life. "If he becomes a great hockey player some day we can honestly say that his first pair of shoes was hockey skates."

Ellen laughed as they slowly moved forward towards the enclosed ice rink, allowing Jack to move his feet along with them. "Jack, I want you to be careful out there. The blades are very sharp and I don't want you to cut yourself, so if…when…you fall, be careful."

"Yes, Mom. I understand."

When they finally stepped out onto the ice, Harry kept a firm hold on his shoulder while Ellen remained outside. With the infinite patience of a grandfather, Harry began to explain the technique of skating on the ice. Jack listened carefully and did as instructed, but the second Harry let him go he crashed to the cold floor.

He gazed down at his feet, wondering why they had betrayed him then looked up at Harry who seemed to be smiling with his eyes.

"You okay, Bud?"

"I am fine," Jack admitted. He attempted to push himself back to his feet, but his legs slipped and he crashed down onto his belly. He looked up at Harry, a little concerned. "How do I get back on my feet?"

"Use your hands for now, and get up on your knees. You'll figure it out."

With only a little struggle, Jack was back on his feet, clinging to Harry's sleeve. Harry started moving faster, and Jack felt the thrill of the speed, eager for more, and started moving his feet alongside Harry's rather than being dragged along. Once they reached the turn he overcompensated and crashed down to the floor again with a startled laugh. He climbed back up to his feet, grabbing onto Harry's arm again, and they went around the rink several times, with Jack spending only half the time wiping up the floor.

Two hours later he was moving forward slowly without Harry's assistance, and although it wasn't nearly as fun moving so much slower, it was more rewarding knowing he was doing it under his own power.

Harry had left the rink to keep Ellen company, claiming the boy was a natural on the ice, while Jack had fun teaching himself how to skate. There were a few other children his age out on the ice but they kept to themselves, giving a novice like Jack all the room he needed.

As Jack crashed to the floor for what felt like the hundredth time he noticed another child, probably a boy, that seemed to be having even more trouble than he was. He glanced over at Harry and Ellen, wondering if Harry might be willing to teach the boy what he had taught Jack, but Harry seemed exhausted from their lesson so he decided not to bother him.

He climbed back up to his feet and slowly made his way over to the boy just as the other child fell on his butt. He looked behind him, thinking he had heard someone laugh, but he decided to ignore it and focus on the other boy. Judging that diplomacy was his best option for making friends, he crashed down right beside the boy, skidding along his chest and swinging around so they were facing each other.

He looked up sheepishly at the other boy. "I do not believe I am proficient at this mode of transportation."

The other boy blinked at him.

Jack shifted so he was sitting up. "This is my first time ice skating. I have spent most of the time on my back side. The floor is too cold for it to be an enjoyable experience."

The boy smiled shyly at him. "Yeah, I'll agree to that. I'll probably be bruised all over. I'm teaching myself how to skate, but I'm not very good at it, yet."

"You do not have someone to instruct you in the technique of skating?"

"You talk funny, you know that?"

Jack tilted his head slightly. "I was unaware of this. I am new to the area."

"Oh. And no, I don't have anyone to teach me how to skate. I'm sort of new to the area, too. Dad doesn't know how to skate either. We're from California."

"My grandfather is going to teach me to play hockey, but I have to learn how to skate first. If you like, we could learn together. I could teach you what I have learned."

"You'd do that?"

"I would. Does this surprise you?"

"Most people wouldn't bother to take the time to teach me how to skate. It wouldn't be much fun with me holding them back."

"You would not be holding me back. We would be progressing together."

"You talk like a grown-up."

"Is it a problem?"

"Only because I can't understand some of the words you're saying."

"Then I propose I trade. I will teach you how to skate, you will teach me how to speak your language."

"A trade?" The boy smiled, shaking his head. "You're kind of weird, but I like it. My name is Jesse, by the way."

"I am MacGyver." He wondered if he would ever get used to introducing himself that way.

Jesse's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, you're…I'm sorry. I heard about you from my Dad, but I didn't think you'd be out in town already. I'm glad you found your Mom again. The whole town was happy when we heard you'd been reunited. Are you okay?"

"I am fine. There are a lot of adjustments for me to make, but Mom has been very patient and understanding."

"Yeah, Mrs. MacGyver is nice. You know, if you need anything, you can ask me."

Jack looked down at the ice, feeling the cold seeping through his clothing and into his butt. "I would like to get off the ice. My backside is freezing."

Jesse laughed, and they both climbed up to their feet, moving slowly forward together as they continued their conversation. Jack glanced over at his companion as he swung his arms to keep his balance.

"I have not known many people," he admitted. "You are the first I have met that was near my own age."

"You've never met any other kids?"

"No."

"Then who did you play with?"

Jack cocked his head, but stumbled, catching himself before he fell. He wasn't sure he should answer that question, since he didn't want to have to explain anything that had to do with his father because he wasn't sure he would stop. He strategically evaded the question. "Tomorrow I will be meeting the Sheriff's son Neil and his friend Chuck. Do you know them?"

"Yeah. We're in the same class, but we don't really hang out much."

"You are welcome to join us. It would be nice to have a familiar face there."

"Really? You want me to be there?"

"Indeed. I believe we could be friends. How else would you teach me to speak like you?"

"Friends? You want to be friends?"

"You do not? I would understand. We do not know each other. I have never had a friend before, I am not sure I would know what to do."

"You really want to be friends with me?"

"I would like that very much."

Jesse smiled. "So would I. And I'm sure you'll figure out the whole friendship thing. I haven't really had many friends, either, we can figure it out together."

Jack smiled at his new friend. "Then you will come over tomorrow?" He was so excited at the prospect that he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. Jesse, distracted by Jack's sudden tumble, joined him a second later. They looked at each other and laughed.

"Will you come?" Jack asked once they had both calmed down.

"Okay. If it's okay with my dad and your mom."

Jack hadn't even thought to ask for Ellen's permission. He would have to speak with her about when he needed to get her permission for something. "I am sure my mom will approve." He saw Jesse's face twitch. "It will be okay with her," he reworded the statement cautiously.

Jesse smiled and nodded his head. "Better."

--

Jack had been on Earth for three weeks now, and he was anxious to see his father again. He had already formed a strong friendship with Jesse, Neil and Chuck, and they seemed willing to accept his eccentricities and help him assimilate to their culture. They came by the house every day, no longer prompted by their parents to help the 'unfortunate child' but seeming to truly enjoy his company. Harry had been by a few times, taking all four boys to the skating rink and helping Jack and Jesse to learn how to skate.

Harry always called Jack 'Bud,' and insisted that Jack call him 'Harry.' Jack wondered if Harry still didn't truly accept him as a grandson, but he reasoned it didn't matter as long as the man behaved like a grandfather. Many of the Asgard had never accepted him as one of them, for good reason, but he had never felt slighted by the exclusion. Thor had more than made up for it, offering his love and support freely, and he suspected that Ellen MacGyver would do so as well.

He quietly crept down the stairs and slipped out the door, remembering to put on his shoes before making the trek outside of town to the prearranged meeting place, checking to make sure that nobody was following him. Inwardly, he grinned at his paranoia, recognizing it as a sign that he was indeed becoming a leader. He was accepting responsibility for himself, not relying on Thor to take care of things for him.

He hoped he was making his father proud. He was having fun with the other children of the Tau'ri, and Harry and Ellen, but he was also learning a lot about humans and emotions. He had originally accepted this mission because he knew in the long run it would help the Asgard if he could understand other humans, and there had been no question that he would learn his lessons from the Tau'ri homeworld. But now he knew how fun it was to be MacGyver, and he gladly accepted the mission.

MacGyver was a chance for him to be someone different, almost an alternate personality to Jack O'Neill, though, intrinsically, still him. He could look at things from a different perspective than both the Asgard and other humans, and with his new persona, could be one or the other or both. He was truly a son of both worlds.

He materialized aboard the _Biliskner_ without warning, but was calm and composed as he greeted his father, Commander Aegir, Heimdall and Freyr. At that moment in his life, as he reported his adventures and accomplishments to his superiors, he realized that he would always be a man of action. Bureaucracy was so not his thing.

TBC


	6. The Split

Spoilers: major spoilers for Blood Brothers (MacGyver, S4).

Warning: Character death. May want a tissue handy, very sad

**The Split**

_Three Years Later_

Jack's limbs and soul felt numb as he stared down the stretch of highway down which his best friend had just disappeared. His friend, that he would never see again.

It was an accident.

And it was his fault.

Jesse was gone because of Jack's carelessness, because Jack had thought he was ready for firearms, to begin his training as an American soldier. He had thought they would be safe, that he knew what he was doing. But he knocked the gun to the ground, saving the bird but…killing his friend.

Jesse was dead. Jack had killed his best buddy, and there was nothing he could do to save him. Neil and Chuck had left them behind once the gun misfired, leaving Jack alone to take care of his dying companion. His subconscious had taken over and he rigged a trailer out of their bikes to drag Jesse out of the forest and up to the road to get help, promising his friend that he wouldn't leave him. _Don't leave me, MacGyver. _

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he glanced up, his expression blank, his mind and body in shock. He recognized Sheriff Ryder, deemed that he was safe, and turned away. He couldn't get his brain to work, he didn't know what he was supposed to do, so he just stood there looking out at the last place he had seen Jesse.

"It wasn't your fault, MacGyver. It was an accident. Come on. I'll take you home."

He didn't respond. Some time later his mind resurfaced and he realized he was in his bed, bundled in blankets, his mother sitting at his bedside, breathing softly.

His eyes burned and his throat was sore and tight, but he knew he deserved far worse for what he had done. He glanced at Ellen, saw that she had fallen asleep, and he quietly slipped out of the bed, changed into a pair of jeans leaving his feet and chest bare, and walked out the door.

By the time he reached the street he was running, fighting back the tears in his eyes as he tore through the forest, ignoring the stinging whips of branches, the twigs and rocks cutting into his bare feet. He ran as far and as fast as he could, never stopping to catch his breath until his legs gave out on him and he crashed to the ground, slicing up his hands and knees.

Finally, the tears burst forth and he sobbed loudly, crying out for Jesse, telling him how sorry he was, that he wished he could trade places with him. He couldn't even react when he was enveloped by a white light and the ground beneath him became smooth and polished floor. He knew he was safe now, that he was with his father, but he couldn't move other than to choke on the tears caught in his throat, and cry out a hoarse and raspy "Father."

"I am here, son."

A moment later Jack felt a small, frail hand on his shoulder and he surged up on his knees, wrapping his arms around his father's waist, sobbing against his belly. Thor placed his hands on Jack's head, holding him against his chest, pushing aside the strands of blond hair that were clinging to Jack's forehead.

"Are you injured, Jack?"

Jack shook his head, unable to speak out loud. Reassured that his son was in no physical pain Thor waited silently for Jack to recover, freely offering the comfort Jack needed. It was nearly five minutes later before Jack calmed down and pulled away slightly, sniffling. He wiped his hands across his face to remove some of the moisture of his crying. "I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize, my son."

"I killed him. Jesse's dead, and it was all my fault."

Thor wasn't sure what to say, he didn't know what had happened, he had just arrived at Earth an hour ago. "What happened?"

Jack swallowed hard, wiped at his eyes again viciously. "It was an accident. I knocked the gun to the ground, it went off, and Jesse…I tried to get him to safety, I told him he'd be okay, but he didn't make it. He died, because of me."

"You tried to save him."

Jack nodded, his gaze averted to the floor.

"Then you did not fail him, my son. You were there for him in his time of need. You were his friend, his savior, when he needed you most. You did not abandon him to die alone." His words didn't seem to be connecting with his distraught son. "You are the bravest person I have ever known, Jack O'Neill. You did not leave your friend behind."

Jack looked up at him, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly at the praise. "Brave?"

"You feel great pain at the loss of your friend, but you did not let your fear deter you from what needed to be done to help him. You stayed with him while he was dying, and you offered him reassurance that you would never leave him. When he passed from this life, he knew you were there for him, that you were his friend. He was not alone." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "Neither are you."

Jack turned away, walked over to the large viewing window, looked down at Earth. He straightened his shoulders, and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Some of the Tau'ri believe that when we die, if we are good, our souls live on in Heaven, where we are with our family and friends who have passed before us. And with God."

Thor slowly stepped up to his side. "These beliefs assuage their fear of death. It is a common religious belief, that the Gods will accept them in the afterlife into their realm, where life is good and fair."

Jack swallowed, nodded his head. "I cannot believe in this God in which the Tau'ri put their faith, knowing that the people on so many worlds believe the Goa'uld to be Gods. I may never believe in Gods." He finally looked over at Thor and met his gaze. "But I have always believed in you."

Thor didn't blink, unsure what was going on inside Jack's head at the moment. Perhaps Jack had expected him to be able to save the boy's life. "I will always believe in you, Jack."

Jack nodded and looked back at Earth, his expression neutral. "The Tau'ri bury their dead. They say goodbye. I am not ready to say goodbye to my friend. May I stay here with you for a few days?"

"You may. I have missed your presence. But it is important that you return to Earth when you are ready. You cannot allow your fear and guilt to prevent you from living your life and doing what must be done."

Jack nodded, knowing his father was right.

Jesse was dead. Even Father couldn't save him and he had nobody to blame but himself. He may as well have pulled the trigger, the blood on his hands would never wash off. For the first time in his life he felt a tarnish on his soul, a blackness he had never known was there. He began to truly understand the depths of evilness, how overwhelming it could be, for it could assail even the purest of hearts given the right, or wrong, circumstances.

Was he evil? No. Was he as bad as the Goa'uld? No, it had been an accident, he had tried to save his friend. But he had failed and there was nothing he could say to Tate Summers that would relieve him of the loss of his only son.

He would have to accept responsibility for his actions. He was angry, at himself and at Neil and Chuck for leaving him and Jesse behind like they had. If he could switch places with Jesse he would in a heartbeat, regardless of his predetermined mission in life.

He had lost a piece of his soul when Jesse died, and no matter what he did with his own life from this point on, it could never make up for that loss. He would try, for Jesse's sake, to make up for his sin, to save the lives of others even if he couldn't save himself from the darkness. He owed it to Jesse, no matter the personal cost.

--

"MacGyver can never be Jack O'Neill," Jack said softly as he walked through the corridors of the _Biliskner_.

He was thinking about Jesse, remembering all the time they had spent together, all the fun they had. He shoved aside the nightmare of that gun, the cold hard steel in his hand, and wondered if he could ever be the warrior he was destined to be if he refused to use guns.

If he was going to be a warrior he would have to be able to deal with death. He had proven that he was capable of handling death when he was still in the field, when he had something to do, but now, in the aftermath of his failed rescue, he wasn't sure how to handle it. The others back on Earth would think he had run away, they would blame him and think him a coward. They wouldn't know of his struggle to accept the death of his friend as his own responsibility, not just a quirk of fate or an accident.

If he was to become a leader he would have to make the tough choices and be willing to make the sacrifices. As MacGyver, that was something he didn't think he could do. But Jack O'Neill was a son of the Asgard and he could hide his emotions, he could bottle them up and internalize them to keep his personal battles away from unsuspecting eyes. MacGyver was expected to be vulnerable, because he was only human.

He was two separate identities. He could learn from this, he could adapt and change who he was until he became who he needed to be. His underlying character would be the same, it was an innate sense of being that he would never be able to change. But through trial and error he could become the ultimate leader by looking at every side of the situation.

MacGyver could never even think about using a gun again, but Jack O'Neill would have to depend on weapons to fight his battles. MacGyver would have to use his intelligence and compassion for human life to save lives, O'Neill would use his cunning, strength and honor to do the same. Jack O'Neill would be a soldier; MacGyver would be a…what? Scholar? Civilian? Pacifist? Humanitarian.

Eventually, he would make the two lives unite, but in the meantime, this was the only way he would be able to cope. He wasn't one without the other, but until he had a better understanding of who he was and what he needed to be, they couldn't be together.

MacGyver would have Earth. Jack O'Neill would have the Galaxy.

--

Mission City seemed deserted as he slowly walked into the town. The streets were empty, the homes vacant, the town was in mourning. With his head bowed he walked purposefully into his home and up the stairs to his room, pulling out the only suit he had, which his mother had bought for him for special occasions. She didn't make him wear it often, still remembering their first days together when he wasn't even comfortable wearing a simple shirt. With great care and respect he dressed himself, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening the tie, not even grimacing at the discomfort. Today wasn't about him, it was about Jesse, and he was going to honor his friend's memory.

He brushed at his hair, untangling the knots that had occurred in his three days with Thor, and tried to make it look presentable. Deciding that Jesse wouldn't recognize him with that particular, neat and combed back style, he ran his hand through the blond locks and messed it up again to its customary organized chaos. Jesse wouldn't want him to overdo it.

He stepped outside, looking up into the clear blue sky, squinting against the brightness of the sun. It was a beautiful day. He wished he could believe in Heaven, that maybe Jesse was smiling down on them today, sending his love in the warmth of the sun. It was a nice thought.

He slowly made his way down the street towards the town's cemetery. He knew the place, Ellen had taken him there to meet his 'father' James. As he approached he could see a lot of people wearing black, their heads bowed as the priest spoke in a low, resonant voice. He moved closer silently, slipping in undetected, standing in the back of the crowd. He wasn't sure if he would be welcome, and he didn't want to make a scene. He didn't want to upset anyone with his presence.

He kept his head up, his unfocused gaze directed between the bodies of the people in front of him towards the small coffin in which the body of his friend would be laid to rest. The priest was silent for a moment as the crowd shifted, and slowly the coffin was lowered into the hole in the ground. As the priest began to speak the crowd shifted again, and he was no longer hidden in the background.

Someone gasped, others whispered, and then he heard his mother's voice shout, "Mac!"

Within seconds he was enveloped in her warm embrace, her arms holding him tightly. He hugged her back, because he knew that she was crying and she would have been worried about him when he disappeared that night. Finally, she pulled away, dabbing the tears from her face as she took a good look at him.

"Are you okay? I was so worried. Where did you go? Are you alright?"

He placed his hand on her arm to silence her. "Don't worry about me, Mom," he whispered quietly. He took her hand in his and faced forward again, waiting for the ceremony to resume so he could say his goodbye.

He ignored the hostile and sympathetic glances equally, ignored the crying, guilty faces of Neil and Chuck, ignored the sadness in Jesse's father.

One by one, the crowd began to thin out until only Jesse's family and closest friends remained. He glanced around, noticed that nobody was moving, so he gently pulled away from his mother and approached the final resting place of his friend. He glanced at Jesse's father, saw the man was too deep in his grief to even see him. He knelt down on the ground at the edge, his right knee touching the dirt. He picked up a handful of the loose Earth and let it run through his fingers onto the casket below.

He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his voice steady and strong. He said his goodbye in the language of the Ancients, a personal message that he would carry forever in his heart. "_Goodbye, Dear Friend. May your soul reside in the hearts of those who have loved you. I carry your spirit with me always, to the stars and beyond. Be safe on your new journey, my brother._" Before anybody could stop him he pulled out his Swiss Army Knife, opened the blade, and drew a thin line of blood on his left palm, holding it out over the open space and letting a single drop fall to the casket below. Then he spoke in English. "My blood is yours. Sleep well, brother. I will never forget you."

He bowed his head and closed his eyes before rising to his feet. He pocketed the knife and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping it around his left hand so he wouldn't spread his blood everywhere. He looked down at the casket once more. "See ya, Jesse." His throat constricted and he couldn't say anything else. He turned away and walked over to his mother, but he wasn't quite ready to leave. "I'm sorry if I scared you, Mom," he said quietly.

She hugged him again, more gently this time, swaying him back and forth. "I'm just glad you're okay, honey. Did you take care of yourself? Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine. Can we stay a while longer? I don't want to leave him, yet."

"Okay. Okay, just a little bit longer. Then I'm taking you home and I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm sure you're okay. You shouldn't have cut yourself like this." She stroked the back of his left hand with her fingers.

"Jesse is my blood brother," he said, as though it explained everything. For him, it did.

"What about Neil and Chuck? They've been worried about you."

His muscles tensed and anger glinted in his eyes but he quickly tried to hide it. "I don't want to speak with them, yet."

"They don't blame you, sweetie. They're your friends. It wasn't your fault."

He pulled away from her angrily but nonviolently. "This isn't about me. It's about Jesse. When they can look me in the eye, I'll forgive them because Jesse would want me to, but not until then."

"Forgive them?" she asked, clearly unaware of why they would need forgiveness.

He scowled, but said nothing. He would carry the full blame of Jesse's death on his shoulders, because that is what a leader does. That is what Jack O'Neill would be expected to do.

He may never be able to truly forgive Neil and Chuck for leaving Jesse behind like that, but he did recognize that his expectations were high. His friends couldn't be expected to have the same protective instinct which he had, they were still young and undecided with what to do with their lives. Jack had already chosen his path, had always known that he was meant to protect others, to save lives and preserve humanity, but he could not expect others to have the same devotion and calm efficiency in high stress situations as him.

They were, after all, merely children and had much to learn. As did he.

As Jack came to an understanding about his friend's cowardly behavior Jesse's father slowly raised his head and looked him straight in the eye. Their gaze didn't falter for a second, sharing the loss of their family in silence. Finally, after a long moment, Tate took a deep breath and slowly walked across the grass and stopped in front of Jack, who pulled away from his mother slightly.

Tentatively, Tate reached out and placed his hand lightly on Jack's shoulder. Jack looked up at him, his eyes unblinking, knowing what a challenge this was for the other man. A few seconds later he found himself in a warm embrace, being rocked back and forth as Jesse's father told him, without words, that he was forgiven for his part in the tragic accident.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his brother's father, pressing his face against the man's chest to hide the single tear that rolled down his cheek. This was a good man, he knew, the best humanity had to offer. In addition to the private comfort, Tate was essentially telling the entire town that Jack was not at fault, he was not a murderer and he was still Jesse's best friend in the entire world and for that, Tate loved him. Jack didn't know if he would ever be so forgiving.

TBC


	7. Two Lives

Spoilers: Countdown (MacGyver, S1), Partners (MacGyver, S2), and others (character info)

**Two Lives**

_Six years later_

Jack grinned as he threw his arms around the shoulders of his best friends, 'Mike' Forrester and Jack Dalton. "Well kids, looks like we made it, eh?" He placed a chaste kiss on Mike's cheek and she laughed happily as she pushed him away, knocking him into Jack Dalton. "Hey!" he exclaimed with a laugh as Dalton pushed him back at her.

"You should know better than that, MacGyver." Mike wiped her cheek playfully.

"Yeah, Mac. After all this time don't you know not to take advantage of your friends like that? I mean, sure, you got financial problems, no biggie, we'll hook you right up on the spot. If you're ever in a jam just come a-running and we'll be right there for you, pronto, do you get me? But we draw the line at kissing, Buddy," Dalton was quick to add, speaking in a rapid, jovial manner. Dalton was irrepressible, and Jack had adored his personality since they met four years ago, no matter how much trouble he got into because of the older boy.

Jack just laughed and pulled Mike into an affectionate hug. "Ah, come on, high school's over, we'll probably hardly ever see each other again."

Mike looked at him appalled. "No way, MacGyver, you're not getting away from us that easily. We're best friends, you better keep in touch or we'll hunt you down. And don't think we won't. You'll be famous one day and it won't be so hard for us to track you down."

"Nah," Jack deflected modestly, "I'll never be famous. I'm just a simple Minnesota boy who loves to fix things."

Dalton wrapped his arm around Jack's shoulder. "Simple, my dear friend, you are anything but. Are you sure you really want to go to college? Wouldn't you rather take a year off, travel the world? We could backpack through Europe, what do you say, Mac old boy? Doesn't that sound like fun? Come on, Mac, don't be a goody two-shoes, you'll just burn-out sooner or later without us to take care of you."

"Right, Jack, looking after my welfare, are you? You and your crazy schemes, it's a wonder the sheriff let us get away with it all. If his predecessor wasn't a very dear friend of mine we'd all be locked up for the rest of our very short lives."

"Ah, don't be like that, Mac, you know it was all in good fun. Besides, you enjoyed yourself, didn't you? You're just too embarrassed to admit it."

"I am not embarrassed. I'm ashamed. I am such a pushover for the two of you it isn't even funny."

Mike laughed and ruffled his hair affectionately. "You love us, MacGyver, admit it. Your life would be boring without us, and you know it."

"Hmph," he replied noncommittally, then looked at Dalton closely. "So what was that about backpacking through Europe?"

Dalton grinned triumphantly. "Hah! I knew it. You'll love it, Mac, with my people skills and your survival tricks and Mike's flair for the dangerous and unpredictable we'll have a blast. We'll just pack our bags and take off, wherever the roads may lead us. No maps, no money, just the three of us and the great outdoors. What do you say?"

Jack eyed his friend warily. "I'm already registered at the University, Jack. This is something I want to do." At Dalton's pout he grinned slightly and added, "But I have the whole summer off. How long will it take to hike across Europe?"

Dalton and Mike beamed. "You mean it, MacGyver?" Mike asked excitedly.

Jack shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, why not." He had originally planned to spend a couple weeks with Thor among the Asgard, to return to his roots, but he liked the idea of spending more time with his friends traveling the world that he had accepted as his home but of which he had experienced only a small fraction.

He suddenly found himself swept up in Mike's embrace. "This is fantastic, I can't wait. You sure your mom's going to be okay with this?"

Jack smiled reassuringly. "She'll understand. She says I have a free spirit, why else would I have two miscreants like you for friends? Convincing me to give up everything and chase you through Europe," he muttered, feigning irritation.

Dalton smiled proudly. "You love us, MacGyver, and don't you forget it. Best buddies, that's us."

Jack shook his head, smiling down at the ground. "I just know I'm going to regret this."

Three months later, as they arrived back home the day before he started classes at the University, he didn't regret the trip at all.

--

Jack had spent his last year in high school working out the details of his future on Earth, running everything by Thor to work out the finer points. His current plan had him assuming a new official identity, that of Jack O'Neill as he truly was by birth.

Jack had spent the previous year learning how to fake his identity and two months before graduation he had traveled to Chicago to put it into motion. He cleared the records of the mysterious disappearance of the child of Grace and William O'Neill, and had put him in an orphanage in Chicago. He had snuck into the orphanage after hours and faked their documents as well, showing that he had been there for sixteen years until he became an emancipated minor, for which he also had the appropriate records.

If anyone checked too closely, his back-story wouldn't hold up to much scrutiny, but over the years people's memories would fade and officials would retire and nobody would be able to admit for sure whether they had ever known him or not.

He had gone out a few times to settle into his new identity, introducing himself as Jack O'Neill, which wasn't all that difficult since that was who he truly was, and making up fantastic stories of a misspent youth he didn't have. He gave himself just a bit of attitude, allowing his brash humor and subtle wit to break out without restraint.

He rather enjoyed himself. He felt free, unrestrained, as though he could do and say anything without people wondering what was wrong with him. Though MacGyver was by no means an angel, he was generally soft-spoken, polite, and, didn't have an inconsiderate bone in his body. Although he had never felt the desire to deliberately hurt someone's feelings, Jack knew he was capable of it to a certain extent, in that if he didn't like someone he would tell it to their face rather than put up with their unwanted behavior. As MacGyver, he just tended to ignore or avoid people he didn't like, unless they were hurting someone else then he would put an end to it.

He had never understood the human's tendency towards prejudicial behavior, whether towards someone's ethnicity, gender, appearance, eating habits, whatever. He had come to love all the variety he saw in the human race, and treasured every nuance of individuality. He was tolerant and respectful of all humans, treating everyone with the same degree of respect, making no distinction no matter the cost to himself socially. He didn't care what other people thought of him, as long as they didn't believe he was actually from outer space and lived among aliens for the first seven years of his life.

Open-mindedness was one of the few things that he could not separate from his fundamental character, and would forever be a part of both MacGyver and Jack O'Neill. It was the details, the day to day activities, which he could alter to protect his identities.

The truly difficult part of his plan would be handling the dual life. As MacGyver, a seventeen year old high school graduate, he would be attending Western Tech University for a Bachelors of Science degree, probably in chemistry or physics. As sixteen year old, home-schooled Jack O'Neill with a GED equivalent he would have to wait a year before he could join the Air Force Academy, which had given him the summer to hang out with his friends and the rest of the school year to focus on his studies and prepare for the academy. Logistically, he knew he may have to give up MacGyver's plans to become a scientist, but he was going to try to make this work.

He would be under much greater scrutiny when he joined the Air Force, and he knew it would be a risk to both his cover and his sanity to handle the workload he was planning, but he loved his life as MacGyver and didn't want to give it up. As MacGyver he had friends and family and a home. Although unofficially Jack O'Neill had the greatest support group he could possibly imagine in Supreme Commander Thor of the Asgard Fleet, he officially had nothing but his future with the Air Force.

MacGyver's options with the Air Force would be limited because of a severely broken arm he received during a hockey match which left him in the hospital for a month and dashed his hopes of joining the US Olympic hockey team. Thanks to advanced Asgard healing, there was no trace of the injury anymore, which might be difficult to explain as MacGyver but he wasn't planning to do anything life-threatening as that identity.

Of course all of his plans changed a year later when MacGyver was drafted into the service to fight the war in Vietnam. Because of his medical history and his year at the university, he was able to pull some strings and managed to land a position in the bomb disposal unit, where at the tender age of 18 (though in reality he was only 17 years old) he was considered the expert on explosives and had a reputation for keeping a cool head while in danger.

He was teamed up with Charlie Robinson and together they worked their way across Southeast Asia. The two-man team was in high demand, and they were frequently sent in behind the lines, reintroducing Jack to front-line combat. It seemed a lot more personal when you could see their faces, when it wasn't just two ships firing on one another. He took solace in the knowledge that what he was doing was saving lives, but no matter what his government told him it didn't feel right to take the life of another human being, not when he knew about the Goa'uld and what they were doing to humans.

His opinion began to change as he saw some of the atrocities being done to the Vietnamese people and to the American soldiers by the Viet Cong. He began to see himself as an American rather than a human or Tau'ri. And he began to understand what it would take for him to be a field officer, as would be required of him if and when the military figured out how to use the Stargate.

A year later he and Charlie were transferred to Afghanistan after a series of bombings had caused significant damage and loss of life. While on assignment there, he was unaware that back in the States his mother had just passed away from a stroke. He never got the chance to say goodbye.

They shipped him home, compassionate leave, and MacGyver's military career was over. When grandpa Harry wouldn't speak to him, seemed to disappear altogether, he had nothing left to stick around for as MacGyver aside from his friends. He committed to his life as Jack O'Neill, joining the Air Force as he had intended and returning once again to Vietnam, this time as a combatant.

He was the unit good luck charm according to the veterans, because he always seemed to be where he needed to be, doing what he needed to do, and he got away from more scraps unscathed despite being in the thick of it than anyone had a right to without supernatural intervention. He was a natural leader, it seemed, which his commanding officers either encouraged or despised. Out there in the jungle, with so many unpredictable dangers, you had to be able to think on your toes, and Jack had the remarkable ability to think fast and act faster.

Some folks just didn't appreciate independent thought and individuality in their military men, but Jack was a survivor. Much like his counterpart, explosives specialist MacGyver, he was making a name for himself. As the war wrapped up he was sent back to the States to complete his training and further his career as an officer of the United States Air Force.

--

_Six years later_

MacGyver had to be insane. He had no idea how Jack Dalton had managed to talk him into doing him this favor, driving his cab which Mac wasn't even licensed to drive but that wouldn't bother Jack, now would it? He only had a few weeks of leave and here he was, wasting his time sitting in this cab which he spent most of his last leave fixing up so that it would run in the first place, waiting for paying customers to be driven to God knows where while Jack was laid up in the hospital with a broken leg from skating off the Santa Monica pier.

Sometimes, he really didn't understand why he was friends with the guy, but no matter what crazy stunt Jack pulled Mac was always there to pick up the pieces. That's what friends do, and he knew that despite the fact that Jack could be a real pain in the butt, he was one of the best friends Mac had.

Oh, good, a customer, he thought as a woman, or at least he thought it was a woman, climbed into his cab. If he had any idea what kind of tailspin his life would take from this encounter he wasn't sure if he would do it again. But the damage was already done as he drove the 'lady' to her destination where he saw a slightly rotund man with what had to be one of the worst hairpieces he had ever seen pull out a gun and follow after his passenger. Thinking the lady was in danger he did the only thing that came to mind: he went in to save her.

That was how he met Murdoc, the bane of his existence, a master of disguise and a hired assassin that took great pleasure in his work. The fact that he had tried to save the assassin's life didn't sway the homicidal maniac from trying to kill him, as well as the man who would forever change his life: Pete Thornton.

He liked Pete from the moment he met him, aside from the whole 'thinking he was going to kill the nice lady who turned out to be a male international assassin' bit. After he managed to rig a way for him and Pete to avoid being blown up by two bazookas using a shoelace, a wrench and a paper clip, Pete had taken an interest in his talent and offered him a job with the Department of External Services, or DXS.

Jack O'Neill was a Captain in the Air Force by then and quickly moving up the ranks as a resourceful, quick-thinking and committed officer. MacGyver couldn't even begin to consider working for another government agency, he didn't have the time for it and he certainly couldn't risk being caught in his double life. But over the next few days working with Pete, chasing Murdoc into an abandoned warehouse that was being demolished and trapping the assassin inside as the building collapsed around him, Mac felt a connection to Pete that he had never felt before.

He admired Pete. There was nothing fantastic about the man, he just went about his job the best way he could, committed and devoted to serving his country. And yet, Mac couldn't help but look up to him. Pete was down-to-earth and simple and he was a lot of fun. He laughed, often at himself, and he wasn't afraid to admit he needed help, and he was full of good-humor, despite the seriousness of his work. Although he could be light-hearted, Pete could also unleash an anger that chilled Mac to the core and he was sure he would never want to be on the opposite end of Pete's wrath.

But, most importantly, Pete cared. He cared about the people he worked with, the people he was sworn to protect, and even the people he wasn't. He tried to help everyone who needed it, his work was more than just a job to him, it was a means to an end. With his influence, he could get help to the people who really needed it.

So Mac found himself agreeing to a part-time job with the DXS, in which he could choose his own missions, no exceptions, and had no serious commitment. He could drop by whenever he had the time, working only through Pete's department, and take whatever assignment happened to be there when he was in the area. He was not legally bound to the government organization, they could not order him to do anything he didn't want to do, or couldn't do because of time constraints.

Mac had aced the background check of course. Once he was old enough he had added to the precautions which Sheriff Ryder had installed when he first arrived in Mission City and became MacGyver, so his identity was never called into question.

Pete was there every step of the way, getting him clearance, arranging his free-lance, part-time status and his training. He even arranged the special proviso that declared MacGyver would never have to carry a weapon. He also managed to keep his first name out of the database, much to Mac's appreciation and Pete's good-natured humor. Most of his work was domestic, as he didn't have time to leave the country for long-term missions in case he was called back to duty, and his employers wanted to see how well he performed with, what they thought, very little military background. Pete assured him he exceeded all their expectations.

In the meantime, Jack hadn't heard from Thor for over a year, and he was concerned for his father's safety. The Replicators were growing stronger and the Asgard were continuously fighting skirmishes to hold them at bay as the metallic insects evolved following each battle, adapting to the strategies they witnessed. The last he had heard the war was at a standstill, the Replicators seemingly calling a truce for the moment, but Thor was convinced they were simply increasing their numbers, waiting patiently as they built up their strength for their next assault.

While he worried about his father there was nothing he could do about it unless Thor returned and asked for his help. He could easily abandon his life on Earth to help his father's race but so far he wasn't needed so he continued to make two lives for himself here on Earth.

Pete became the best friend/father figure he had never had on Earth. His grandfather Harry had been a great mentor when he was younger, but as he grew up Harry became more and more distant until finally, his grandfather just left. But it was so easy to talk to Pete, the man had a natural easiness about him, like you could tell him anything.

More than once he had been tempted to tell Pete about his life as Jack O'Neill, but something always held him back. Self-preservation, he assumed at first, but he knew it was more than that. He had to protect his friends from the knowledge, he couldn't expect anyone to keep his secret.

He could no longer decide which his primary life was and which was secondary. Each was equally important in his mind and that would make it harder to keep them separate. People were beginning to take notice of him, which was great in most circles as it helped him advance through the Air Force ranks and gave him the more important missions with the DXS, but in his case, it could also end not only his career but his life.

Some people can barely get through one life. He was excelling in two.

And he was sure that somewhere down the road he was going to have to pay the consequences. He just hoped that nobody else got hurt.

TBC


	8. I Don't Want to be Jack

Spoilers: The Gamekeeper (Stargate, S2), The Devil You Know (Stargate, S3)

Warning: language, character death

**I Don't Want to Be Jack**

_Two years later _

Jack choked on tears he couldn't shed as he dragged the body of his teammate, his commanding officer Colonel John Michaels, to safety. As John gasped out his final breaths Jack promised he'd take care of Barbara, John's wife. He would keep that promise but he wished there was something he could have done to prevent this whole mess from ever happening. This entire mission was botched from the start, and if he ever got his hands on the guys that gave them the bad intel he was confident he'd be sporting bruised knuckles for weeks afterwards.

He felt Captain Charlie Kawalsky's hand on his back, urging him to start moving since they were in enemy territory and it was by no stretch of the imagination a safe place to be. As the ranking officer, Jack quickly took command of the failed mission, ordering his team to fall back. Between the two of them, he and Kawalsky carried the lifeless body of their commanding officer, unwilling to leave a man behind, no matter his condition.

By the time they returned to the base Jack was trembling with anger, and he was only too glad to voice his disapproval. Refraining from striking his superior officer, he lashed out with cutting words and wasn't all that surprised by the official reprimand on his record and minor count of insubordination. It wasn't that he actually called his superior officer a very dirty word, it was more that he didn't deny it. Shouting in Russian was not exactly appropriate on an American military base. Not that they suspected he was a Russian spy, they knew he had been trained to speak the language so there was no doubt into his credibility as an American, but shouting at a superior officer was very much frowned upon.

So after a short night of isolation, a visit with a psychological counselor, and a certified two months leave of absence, he was out of there. Kawalsky walked out with him without a word, understanding Jack's behavior, as all the other officers did, and offering his support.

As he had promised, Jack immediately went to see Barbara Michaels and helped her out as best he could, knowing he could never actually replace the man she loved. He helped arrange the funeral and escorted her, then spent the next week taking care of her, helping her through her grief. Kawalsky dropped by often and the three of them would reminisce, remembering the life of Colonel John Michaels.

By the end of the week Barbara was back on her feet, reassuring them that she would be okay. They promised they'd keep in touch, and if she ever needed anything she could count on them.

After leaving her house, they went to the nearest bar and got drunk.

"Jack…Jack…Jack." Charlie kept repeating, knowing there was something he wanted to say but not knowing what it was. "Jack?"

Jack tapped on Charlie's shoulder a couple times, pushing him slightly. "What?" He pushed him again. "Charlie. What?"

"Oh, right. Jack."

Jack laughed drunkenly, sloshing the beer out of his mug, and wiping it off the counter with his hand, right onto his pants. "Whoops."

Charlie looked over at him and sniggered. "You're drunk."

"So are you," he slurred defensively. "Funny thing is, I don't even like alcohol. Messes with the…the mind. You know?"

"Uh huh. Look, Jack." He blinked, looking confused. "You don't like alcohol?"

"Nuh-uh." Jack shook his head vigorously, looking down at the table as his vision blurred with the rapid movement. "I don't feel so good."

Charlie patted him sloppily on the back. "You're drunk."

"So are you."

"I don't feel any better. Being drunk. It doesn't really help, does it?"

Jack opened his mouth, disgusted with the fuzzy feeling on his tongue. "Nope. But maybe if we drink enough it'll make us forget."

"Can't forget it. I remember the blood. All that blood."

Jack felt sick to his stomach as a memory from his distant past came up. Another dying body in his arms, another promise made. _Don't leave me MacGyver. Jack, take care of Barbara for me._

He fell off the stool and dropped to his hands and knees, fighting the nausea of the memories more than the alcohol. Jesse's blood on his hands, John's blood on his hands. It was all the same, lives he couldn't save. He thought he might be crying but he didn't care. He dropped his forehead down to the floor, uncaring of the other patrons of the bar staring at him, either concerned or disgusted. He just didn't care.

Charlie seemed to sober up quickly seeing the distress of his friend and teammate. He dropped down beside Jack, setting his hand on Jack's back and rubbing it in soothing circles. "It's okay, Jack. You're gonna be okay, Buddy."

"Oh God, I failed, Charlie. I screwed up."

"Hey, it wasn't our fault, Jack. We had bad intel. You didn't give the orders, there was nothing we could have done to save him. It wasn't your fault."

"Why me? Why save my life? What makes me so special?" He lifted his head and shouted up at the ceiling. "Why the Hell would you save me and nobody else? You could save lives, you could put an end to these wars, you're all just a bunch of cowards! You hear me, Father? With your damn superiority complex and your disregard for us lesser beings."

"I thought you weren't religious, Jack. Come on, Buddy."

"I don't want to be Jack, anymore. I don't want to be Jack."

"Who else you gonna be? You'll get through this, Jack, we all do. This was a bad idea. You don't hold your liquor so well. Come on, on your feet. John wouldn't want you beating yourself up over this, you know that, right?"

"There's too much death, Charlie. There's just too much. We're all just children, there shouldn't be so much bloodshed. There are more important things than fighting amongst ourselves," he muttered almost deliriously, his voice low and rough with emotion. He looked up, looking utterly lost and defenseless. "There's so much more at stake than what we're fighting for, Charlie. So much more. We should be out there, making a difference."

"We are making a difference, Jack. We're saving lives, defending this country. We've done a lot of good things. And you and I are going to keep on doing great things, in honor of the Colonel. I don't want to see you giving up, you hear? You're the best soldier I've ever seen, Jack, in the air or on the ground. This country needs you. And I'm pretty sure you need this country as well."

Jack frowned at the floor, fighting his blurry vision. "When did you get all phisiloph…philsiphos…philsical…" he scowled, "…deep?"

Charlie's face split in a huge, amused grin. "Man, Jack, you're totally tanked. For an Irishman you're certainly a lightweight."

"Not an Irishman. Viking," he slurred. "My father is the Norse God of Thunder," he smiled proudly.

"Sure, Jack, that would explain your mighty temper. The way you let loose on the General, it's amazing you weren't dishonorably discharged and thrown in the nuthouse."

"Yeah, well. They like my work. As long as you give results they don't care how nuts you are." He blinked slowly, his mind abruptly clearing and in a moment of lucidity he realized that he had told Charlie the truth about his father. Even through the drunken haze he knew that had been a huge mistake that could have ruined his life, but fortunately Charlie didn't take him seriously.

He knew he wouldn't be drinking in public anymore.

"Hey, Charlie?"

"Yeah, Jack?"

"I'm a little drunk."

"Ya think so?"

"Uh-huh."

"Let's get you home, Buddy. We'll deal with everything in the morning."

--

Jack spent his two months of enforced leave as MacGyver on assignment for the DXS. He had considered contacting his father but decided he needed to work through this thing on his own. He couldn't depend on Thor for everything, and at his age he was a little old to be running to his parents whenever he was upset.

His mother, Ellen MacGyver, had passed away years ago. He had been on assignment in Afghanistan at the time, and he still hadn't forgiven himself for not being there for her. He would drop anything if Thor asked him, but he couldn't even spare the time to visit the woman who raised him, who gave him a home and showed him what it was to be human.

He had thought being alone, having no family, would make him better at his job. He would be the only one at risk, there would be nobody to worry if he made it back or not. He would be free to make his own choices, regardless of those around him.

And yet, the only thing he felt being alone, was lonely. There was something to be said for having a family. He was just relieved that he would always have his father.

His current assignment was a rescue mission. This was his favorite kind of work, it was often the most rewarding. It was why he got into his line of work in the first place, saving lives. His target was an Air Force officer, a Colonel Jacob Carter, and although it was risky for him to show his face to someone he may end up working with sooner or later, he couldn't just leave the man behind.

He made his way into the prison where Colonel Carter was supposedly being held, but given the fiasco of his last mission with the Air Force, he didn't take the intel at face value. He would be extra cautious on this one. His disguise worked perfectly, as he was dressed like the other prison guards, and he managed to sneak in undetected.

As he neared the prison cells he touched the Swiss Army knife in his pocket, and pulled it out slowly, checking both ends of the hall before he stepped up to the first door. There was nobody inside so he moved over to the next cell and was relieved to find a man matching the Colonel's description lying there, curled up on the floor trying to sleep. Hopefully. He didn't appear to be seriously injured, but there was no guarantee the man would be able to move on his own.

"Hey!" he whispered hoarsely through the small window. "Psst. Colonel Carter."

The man jerked upright, spinning around to find the voice that had awoken him, the bruises on his face, the split lip and the grunt of pain revealing that he wasn't in as great condition as Mac had hoped.

He glanced around to make sure nobody was coming before speaking again. "Hey there. My name's MacGyver. I'm here to get you out."

The man was on his feet in an instant. "Who do you work for?" Colonel Carter asked in a low voice.

"The DXS. Can you walk?"

"Yeah. How do you plan to get me out of here?"

Mac grinned as he showed him his knife. "Never leave home without it."

"Oh great. A boy scout." Carter griped good-naturedly. "I wasn't expecting anyone this soon. I guess the information I have must be pretty valuable to my superiors."

Mac scowled as he picked the lock. "I wouldn't know about that, sir. My priority is human life." He pulled out a paper clip, unfolded it and inserted it into the lock. The bolt clicked a moment later and he looked through the window at Carter. Slowly, he eased the door open and waved for Carter to step outside. "This place is under pretty heavy guard, and we're going to have to move fast. There's some bikes outside, but it'll be a rough ride. Are you up to that?"

"I'll do whatever it takes."

"Good. I set up a distraction on the other side of the compound, it's set to go off in about two minutes. We'll have to lay low until then."

"How many others are with you?"

"Just me." He peeked around a corner before leading Carter across the hallway.

"Guess my information wasn't so important after all."

"I work alone. I find it's easier to improvise if I don't have to explain my actions. Don't worry, I'm very good at what I do. You might want to keep it down from here on out."

Carter understood the warning and remained quiet as they crept through the prison. Sure enough, within two minutes, there was a loud explosion that sent the guards to a small shed, in the opposite direction of Mac and Carter. They easily slipped past the remaining guards without a fight, and Mac ran to the nearest motorcycle. Half a minute later Jacob was holding onto Mac as they sped down the road and eventually turned off and disappeared into the neighboring woodlands.

Once they were out of range and Mac knew they weren't being followed he stopped the motorcycle to give Carter a break, helping the older man to the ground and sitting down beside him, resting back comfortably to put the other man at ease. The ride hadn't been easy for either of them, dodging branches and tree trunks and jumping logs, but he didn't know how badly hurt Carter was and he didn't want to take any chances. He handed Carter an energy bar and a water bottle.

"So. MacGyver. I guess I owe you one."

"Ah, don't mention it, sir. Just doing my job. You need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good. Wouldn't mind sleeping for about a day."

Mac smirked. "I can understand that." He checked his watch. "We'll rest for about thirty minutes. I doubt they'll find us out here and we've got a pretty good lead on them."

"Piece of cake, huh?"

"Smooth sailing." He shifted and placed his hands behind his head, leaning back against a tree trunk. "You'll be home by tomorrow evening, Colonel. I give you my word on that."

"Under the circumstances, I think I'll believe you. That was a crazy stunt you pulled. What happened to your weapons?"

"Don't carry any." He swatted a bug away from his face.

"Excuse me? You don't carry a gun?"

"Never felt the need for one. More often than not it just gets in the way. I prefer to use the good sense nature intended. If you rely on a gun you'll never look around for other options."

"Sounds like you've got personal experience."

He flinched internally but managed to keep a straight face. "I've seen a few men die."

Carter sighed heavily. "Haven't we all. They train us to survive the battle, but there's no preparing you for the aftermath."

He could agree with that. He hadn't been prepared to handle Colonel Michael's death. That was why he was out here, taking the most dangerous missions for the DXS.

"What branch are you?" Carter asked him suddenly, drawing his attention back to the conversation.

He had almost responded Air Force but he caught himself in time. "Civilian."

"But you've been trained by the military. Marines?"

"I served in Nam for a while. Explosives specialist. Bomb Disposal Team."

"Hence the distraction."

"Yep."

"So how'd you get into this line of work?"

Mac chuckled, wondering what the Colonel would think if he explained that his alien father had convinced him that he would one day save the human race. "Actually, I was pulled into it by a hired assassin. My boss, Pete Thornton was chasing him down and I got caught in the middle of it. Pete was impressed with my work and practically hired me on the spot."

"Well, I'll have to admit I'm pretty impressed myself. Too bad you didn't join the Air Force. We could've used you."

He shrugged. "I don't use guns. I think your superiors would have a problem with an officer refusing to carry a weapon."

"Yeah, I guess so. But a guy walking unarmed into an enemy fortress with nothing but a Swiss Army knife, they may just let you get away with it."

"I wouldn't know. We try to keep my skills on a need to know basis. I don't care for the publicity."

"I can understand that. I suppose you've made a few enemies doing what you do."

"I suppose."

"Well, anyway, thanks for putting yourself on the line like that. I appreciate you getting me out of there. It'd be nice to get home to my family. They've been through enough."

"You got kids?"

"Yeah." Carter smiled proudly. "Two of 'em." The smile faded and turned to a frown. "My wife died a couple years ago. My son blames me. He barely even speaks to me anymore." A hint of a smile returned. "But my daughter, she's amazing. A certified genius. She'll be joining the Air Force. She wants to be an astronaut, and I have no doubt she'll do it."

Mac smiled, looking up at the sky, realizing for the first time that, technically, he was an astronaut. "I hear it's nice up there." He paused a moment. "Sorry about your wife."

"Yeah. So was I."

They sat in silence for a few moments, resting and working through their own separate issues. Finally, Carter broke the silence. "You married, MacGyver?"

"Nah. Came close once or twice, but never got around to it. Too much of a restless spirit, I've been told. Not the type to settle down."

"That used to be me, too. I never thought I'd be a father, I was always so focused on my career. But I wouldn't give up my kids for anything. They're the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

Mac shifted awkwardly, uncomfortable with the conversation. "My mom used to say the same of me. But then, she didn't have to worry about midnight feedings and crying at all hours of the night. I love kids. It's babies that I'm not so sure about." He grinned slightly, to show he was joking.

"You were adopted?"

"Not exactly," he replied cryptically.

"What does that mean? Did your father have custody?"

"No."

"I suppose that's your way of telling me to mind my own business."

Mac didn't respond immediately and Carter didn't push. After a few moments he admitted, "I was taken when I was a baby. I was returned to my mother when I was eight years old, but my father had died a few months before in a car accident. I never met him."

"Holy Hannah." Carter whispered, staring at Mac. "That's rough, kid."

Mac laughed, thinking it ironic that he just saved the man's life and the Colonel was calling him a kid. "It was a long time ago, Colonel. I never had a problem with it. Mom was the greatest woman I've ever known, I was lucky to have her. I'm sure your kids are lucky to have you, too."

"I wouldn't know about that. Sometimes I think my son would be happier if I just left him alone."

"I can't speak to that, sir. But he is family. I imagine that must mean something to him. And to you."

"Yeah. It does. You can call me Jacob, by the way."

"Mac." He returned the gesture.

Jacob watched him for a moment, trying to figure him out. "So why do you really work alone, Mac?"

He knew a commanding tone when he heard one, but as a civilian he never really paid much attention to it. For some reason he didn't understand, he felt like he could trust Jacob Carter, and he wanted him to know the truth. "I don't want to put anyone else at risk. The way I handle a situation isn't exactly conventional, and I'm entirely unpredictable. I don't want to make a mistake that could get someone else killed."

He shrugged lightly, and smoothed a wrinkle out of his pants, just to give his hands something to do. Jacob was staring down at the ground near his feet but he was obviously thinking hard about something.

"It was my fault." Jacob stated suddenly. "My wife, she died because of me. I was supposed to pick her up from work. I stayed late at work and she had to take a cab. There was an accident." He paused to take a deep breath. "It was a mistake but it's one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. They say you learn from your mistakes. Some days I wish there was just a manual to life, so we wouldn't have to make mistakes. But then, I guess that would take all the fun out of life, wouldn't it?"

Mac's lips curved up in a half-smile. "I guess so." He picked up a nearby twig and bent it between his fingers until it snapped. He tossed it aside. "I killed my best friend. When we were kids. I took my father's gun and we bought some bullets and took it out for target practice. I knocked the gun to the ground and it misfired. It took him a while to bleed out. He kept begging me not to leave him. I can still hear him some nights. He was only eleven years old." He swallowed, clearing the emotion from his throat. "That's why I don't use guns. And I guess it's why I work alone. I don't want anymore blood on my hands."

Jacob wasn't sure what to say, but it was clear that he understood what Mac had been through. "You were just a kid. It was an accident."

"So was your wife's death. We can't control everything that happens to us, or to those we care about. The best we can do is honor their memory. You've got your kids to take care of, and me…I've got lives to save. What else is there?"

Jacob didn't answer.

It took them a few hours to reach the pick-up site, but eventually they made it. They rode in the helicopter in silence and Mac watched Jacob struggle to stay awake. When the helicopter touched down he jumped out the door and assisted Jacob down, holding him around the shoulders as they jogged out from under the propeller. A medical team ran out to meet them.

"This is where you and I part ways, Jacob," Mac said as he reached out to shake the Colonel's hand. "Don't take this the wrong way but I hope I never see you again."

Jacob laughed and surprisingly pulled Mac into a hug. "You take care of yourself, Mac. You know I can't thank you enough for getting me out of there. And about what you said. I think I'll take some leave and spend some time with my kids. I don't want to make any more mistakes with them. I'm sure your friend wouldn't want you to get yourself killed saving other people's lives, so don't overdo it, okay?"

He saluted sloppily with a jaunty grin. "Yes sir, Colonel sir. Don't get myself killed, consider it done. Take care, Jacob." He backed away, letting the medical personnel fuss over the Colonel.

"And don't be such a smartass!" Jacob called out over his shoulder as he was guided away.

Mac grinned as he sauntered away. Some days it was nice just being MacGyver.

TBC


	9. Be My Mate

Spoilers: Hind-Sight (MacGyver, S6)

**Be My Mate**

_Four years later_

Jack had never expected to fall in love. Sure, a long time ago he had fallen for Kate Malloy, but he had been MacGyver then and he couldn't explain his long absences. She left him and he hadn't heard from her since so he gave up any hope of ever finding the right woman, a woman with whom he could share his lives.

He was sure he had found her now.

Her name was Sara. She knew him as Major Jack O'Neill, they had been introduced by the wives of his Special Ops teammates Woods and Burke. Although MacGyver was quite the charmer because of the romantic nature of his work, Jack was awkward and shy around women, which resulted in much teasing from his buddies. He could talk to them as equals, no problem, but when it came to romance he bombed out, big time.

But with Sara, it was different. She was tough-as-nails but she was also sweet and feminine. She wasn't afraid to pull on a pair of jeans and a crummy T-shirt to muck around under the hood of a car, even for a date, nor did she hesitate to put on a nice sundress for a barbecue. Within a week of knowing her they had gone hiking, talking for countless hours and he had never felt so comfortable with anyone before. He was so sidetracked by the comfort of the conversation that he had actually been telling her about his life in Minnesota as MacGyver, rather than his fabricated childhood as Jack O'Neill.

This revelation stunned him to no end, he couldn't believe he had relaxed his guard so much. When their conversation took another unexpected turn he knew he wanted to be with her.

"I love kids," she told him. "I just never got around to having one of my own."

As far as anyone else was concerned, Jack had never considered the idea of having children. "Never found the right guy?" he asked her casually.

She smiled enigmatically at him. "I suppose not. But it isn't too late, yet. Do you like kids, Jack?"

And with that single question his carefully constructed world came crashing down around him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, stared down at the ground. "Love 'em. Always wanted to be a father, but with my life…Just wasn't meant to be."

There was a short moment of silence before she reached out and touched his elbow, prompting him to take her hand in his. "You'd be a great father, Jack. It's not too late for you, either."

He couldn't tear his eyes from hers and before he knew it they were kissing. He was sure he initiated it but for once in his life he didn't think about his actions and where they would lead him. He didn't worry about MacGyver or the Asgard or the rest of the galaxy. All he cared about at that moment was making a life with Sara. He had finally found someone he could love, someone he could settle down with.

Someone who could finally unite his two lives into one.

--

Thor watched his son pacing the deck of the _Biliskne_r, alternately looking through the window at Earth and at the floor. "What is troubling you, Jack?"

Jack looked at him abruptly, as though he had forgotten Thor was even there. "I met someone," he admitted.

Thor blinked, tilting his head to look up at Jack for clarification of the statement. Jack was always meeting new people, why was this time significant?

Jack smirked at his father. "A woman. A fantastically perfect-for-me woman."

"You wish to have her as your mate," Thor reasoned wisely.

Jack chuckled at the image that statement brought up. "More than that. I want to marry her."

This surprised Thor. Jack had never talked about taking a wife, this woman must indeed be special for his son to even consider making the commitment. "With which of your identities is she familiar?"

"Jack O'Neill. But I …I told her about my real childhood, in Minnesota. If she starts asking the others questions she'll think I was lying to her."

Thor could discern Jack's discomfort with the idea that the woman wouldn't trust him. "You cannot tell her the truth, Jack."

"I know," Jack admitted sadly. "But if I stay with her…in order to have a real life with her…I'd have to give up MacGyver. There just isn't enough time to keep all these lives going. I'm only one man, and no, that is not an invitation to clone me," he added quickly, then sighed as his shoulders slumped forward. "I've always accepted who I am, given more of myself to this world than anyone has asked of me and I love my life, I'm not complaining. But I'm getting too old for this. All this running around. I want…something different."

"What do you want, my son?"

Jack stood up straighter and placed his hand on Thor's shoulder. "I want the same gift I gave to you. I want to be a father. I want a family."

Thor could understand that. Raising Jack and watching him become the amazing man that he was, sharing his knowledge and love with him, had been the most rewarding experience of his very long life. He also knew that Jack loved working with children, or rather, playing with them. He had felt guilty for a while, knowing that he hadn't known how to play with Jack when he was much younger, but Jack never held it against him.

Jack just had a lot of his childhood to make up for. He had grown up so fast, relatively speaking, for humans. He was wise beyond his years, and Thor knew he had very little to do with it. Jack had always been the one to choose his own path, Thor just helped to guide him on the journey.

"The Asgard have long wished you might procreate and continue your evolutionary line," Thor stated solemnly.

Jack burst out laughing, as he was probably the only human in history to understand when an Asgard was joking. They both knew there was truth to the statement, but Thor would never take advantage of Jack like that. "I think you'd make an awesome grandfather."

Thor bowed his head slightly, accepting Jack's praise, then he turned away to sit down in his command chair. "Tell me about this Sara," he requested.

Jack smiled as he took the neighboring command chair which had been added just for him, and he proceeded to tell Thor all about Sara.

--

_Ten Months Later_

It was such a cliché, but they had the right love at the wrong time. Just when he was sure he was ready to settle down and commit to a life as Jack O'Neill, with Sara at his side, he found that he couldn't abandon his life as MacGyver.

Pete had glaucoma and was slowly losing his sight.

By then, Jack had fallen in love with Sara and was days away from proposing but Pete had been his best friend for years and although he knew he was asking too much of her, he asked Sara to wait for him. He knew he wouldn't have much time to spend with her, so he explained what was happening to his friend and that he had to be there for him.

To his delight, she assured him it would be okay, that she understood and that she would wait for him.

And he knew he couldn't take advantage of her. He would have to find a way to keep them both. He decided to tell Pete everything, except of course that his father was an alien. It was the only option and Pete had always stood by him, no matter what happened. He deserved to know the truth.

"Hey Pete." Mac greeted his friend, who was lying quietly on his hospital bed.

"MacGyver!" Pete exclaimed, clearly pleased that MacGyver was there. "Did you come to spring me?"

"Now Pete, I'm sure it can't be all that bad, having folks waiting on you hand and foot," he chastised, grinning at Pete's look of disgust at the idea. "But yeah. I'm taking you home."

"Excellent." Pete struggled to sit up from the elevated bed and swung his legs over the side, eager for his escape.

"Hey, take it easy there, Pete."

Pete scowled at his protectiveness. "Take it easy, he says. You know, everybody's been telling me to take it easy. I may be mostly blind but I'm not an invalid."

"Never said you were," Mac placated. "You'll be back at the Foundation in no time, I have no doubt of that."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure," Pete muttered.

"Don't think like that, Pete. I've never known you to back down from any challenge. You're a great boss. The best. That hasn't changed. You'll be back, I know it." He set his hand on Pete's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Pete was silent for a moment before he turned his face up towards Mac's. "Thanks, MacGyver. I guess I just needed to hear it."

"Anytime, Pete. Come on now, on your feet, you're not an invalid," he said teasingly.

"Certainly not." Pete spluttered, climbing to his feet and taking Mac's arm at the elbow. "What are you up to anyway?"

"What do you mean?" Mac asked innocently.

"I know you, MacGyver. You've been distracted lately, and it's more than just my surgery."

"Can't a guy be worried about his best friend on the operating table and losing his sight?"

Pete scowled. "Of course he can. But you've got something else on your mind, I know it." He took small, uncertain steps as Mac guided him down the hall. "What is it?"

Mac sighed. "I have something I need to tell you, Pete. It's big, but I can't tell you here. Let's get you settled in at home and then I'll let you in on my secret."

"You've been keeping secrets, MacGyver? I never took you for the type."

"Yeah, well. It's important, Pete."

Mac could tell that Pete was worried about him now, but he needed to give him some kind of warning.

It took them a while before they arrived at Pete's house and got him settled in and comfortable. Mac scurried around, tending to all of Pete's needs as he always did when Pete was sick or injured. And as always, Pete griped and groaned but overall seemed to be adjusting quickly to his condition. Finally, Mac could put off his revelation no longer.

"So what did you need to tell me, MacGyver?"

Mac swallowed uncomfortably, knowing this could ruin their friendship but needing to take the risk, knowing he should trust Pete more than any other human on Earth.

"First off…I met someone," he started out slow, easing into the bigger stuff, at least from Pete's point of view.

"You did?" Pete exclaimed happily. "That's great. Is it serious?" Pete was more than familiar with MacGyver's inability to commit to a relationship.

"Yes. Very. I, uh…I was gonna propose but things got a little…well. I have something I need to do before I can take that step."

"Propose? Why is this the first I'm hearing of her?"

"It's complicated, Pete, which is why I needed to tell you here, alone, away from prying ears. But I need you to hear me out, before you say anything. Will you promise me that you won't…that you won't let this come between us? You're the best friend I've ever had, Pete, I don't want to lose you over this. But I have to tell you the truth."

"This is serious, isn't it?" Pete asked rhetorically. "I trust you with my life, Mac, you know that. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work through it. I'm listening."

Mac took hold of Pete's hand so he would know he was still the same person, that nothing had to change. "Pete. You should know…I've never told another soul what I'm about to tell you. Nobody except…my father."

"Your father?" Pete repeated, knowing Mac's father had died when Mac was very young. "You were just a kid."

"Pete. I never knew James MacGyver. He was never my father. I was…adopted. Kinda."

"Adopted? MacGyver, I've seen your file, your birth certificate. A background check would have caught that."

"Ellen and James did have a child, but he died a few months after he was born. I was seven when I met Ellen, her husband had died a few months earlier and she was still grieving. She loved me from the start and couldn't let me be an orphan so…we made up a story that I'd been kidnapped when I was a baby and they finally found me. She raised me as her real son."

"My God, MacGyver. I don't know what to say. But if it's worked for you this long I don't see why there should be a problem, now. Thank you, for telling me."

"That's not all," Mac continued.

"You said something about your father." Pete prompted.

"Yes. My real parents died in a car accident in Chicago, while my mother was in labor with me. Father saved me, helped to raise me. He knew he couldn't give me everything I needed, we were rather isolated. I'd never met another human until I showed up in Mission City and Ellen took me in. Dad's always been there for me, we still keep in touch. He knows everything about me, he's probably the only one who really understands me."

"Sounds like a good man. You could have told me, you know. I would have understood."

"Yeah, I know. I just couldn't risk it. My dad, he's…not from around here. I doubt anyone could truly understand my relationship with him, but he is the greatest person I've ever known. He likes you, by the way. I wish you could meet him."

"Likewise. Was there something else, Mac?" he asked warily. "Don't get me wrong, I'm stunned by all this, but…you made it seem like there was more."

"There's more. You know, I wasn't always MacGyver."

"That's right. So you found out who your real parents were?"

"I always knew, Pete. My name is Jack. Jack O'Neill." He paused a moment before adding, "Major Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force."

Pete gasped. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, see, this is the hard part. I always knew I'd join the military, I was training to join the Air Force before I was even ten years old. There's an enemy out there, Pete, worse than you can imagine. I've known my whole life that I was destined to be a warrior, to fight the bad guys no matter what it took. So I joined the Air Force. They recruited me to Special Forces."

"How the Hell?" Pete exclaimed, unsure what exactly he was asking but unable to believe what he was hearing.

Mac flinched. "I never expected it to turn out like this. As Jack O'Neill, I could be whatever they wanted me to be. I had no past, Pete, I'd lived my life as MacGyver until then. I could be whoever I wanted and needed to be. But as MacGyver I had a family, and friends and I couldn't put them at risk with my life. So I kept the two lives separate. Spent my down time as MacGyver visiting Mom and friends from back home, and doing things I couldn't do as Jack. I earned my doctorate. I had fun. And then I met you and…I couldn't keep my two lives separate anymore. What you and I did, for the DXS and then the Phoenix Foundation, I was proud of what we were doing. I didn't have to hide my intelligence. I didn't have to use guns, I got to help people and…I loved it. All the environmental studies, scientific research, I didn't want to give any of it up. I found a way to make both lives work. It wasn't easy, and I knew I was taking a big risk that someone would find out, and I couldn't keep going on like I was with all the action, stressful situations, injuries, and contracts out on my head. But both lives were too important to me to give one or the other up."

"But now you found someone," Pete said softly, understanding and nonjudgmental, waiting to hear Mac out to the end.

"Yeah. Her name's Sara. She's amazing, Pete, I love her and I want to be with her. She knows me as Jack and…I think I could trust her with the truth of who I am but I can't take the risk, yet. Not with her. But I've known you for years and, I hope you understand why I couldn't tell you and why I do what I do."

Pete nodded his head slightly, looking pensive. "I'm still trying to see you as an Air Force Major. I guess I never really knew you at all."

"No, Pete, don't say that!" Mac pleaded. "I'm still me, I never pretended to be something I'm not. When I'm MacGyver that's who I am. I don't like guns, Pete, I hate them but I do what I have to do to keep my people safe. And it was a great cover, you have to admit. Nobody would suspect the gun-toting Jack O'Neill to be the pacifist scientist MacGyver. I got the best of two worlds. I've done practically everything, had a lot of fun, learned all about this world. I really am sorry I couldn't tell you sooner but…I hope you can understand why I didn't."

Pete remained silent for a moment, realizing that he was still clasping Mac's hand. "So what's going to happen to MacGyver? If you're getting married you won't have much time for us, will you?"

"No," Mac admitted sadly. "That's why I had to tell you. In order to keep Sara safe I may have to…well, MacGyver may have to disappear. But that won't be for a while, yet. Not until I'm sure you're okay."

Pete pulled his hands away and sat up straight, indignantly. "You don't have to worry about me, MacGyver. I'll get by. I still don't understand how you've managed a double life for so long but you have been a great friend to me and I won't ever forget that. If you can be happy with Sara, then that's what you should do."

"God, Pete. You're the best, you know that? I wasn't sure how you'd take this."

Pete leaned forward again, reaching out to pat Mac on the shoulder. "I can't imagine it's been easy for you, having to hide the truth. And despite the fact that I've only now realized how great a liar you are, that doesn't change what we've been to each other over the years. You've saved my life a hundred times, if not more, and I've always known I could count on you for anything. Most people keep their professional and their personal lives separate, and I guess in a way that's what you were doing. Granted, if I had known what you were doing for a living, I never would have forced you to take all those missions when you complained about being tired or needing a break. I guess I should have read between the lines on that one."

"No, Pete, there was no way you could have known."

Pete continued as though Mac hadn't said anything. "But in all the years I've known you you've never spoken of anyone as you do about Sara. I can tell how much she means to you, and that's all I need to know. You didn't have to tell me the truth, but you did and that means a lot to me. I know how big a risk this was for you, friendship aside and I'm honored that you could trust me with this. So I guess I only have one question for you."

"What's that?" Mac asked warily.

Pete smiled reassuringly. "When can I meet her, Jack?"

Jack leapt forward to pull his friend into a hug. "Oh God, Pete. Thank you. Thank you."

--

_Three days later_

"So, this is the woman who finally got Jack O'Neill to propose?" Pete said innocently as he settled back in his chair after being introduced to Sara.

Jack looked at his friend in horror, then at Sara whose eyes had popped open in surprise, then back at Pete. "For cryin' out loud, Pete, I haven't even asked her yet." He turned back to Sara who was staring at him. "Umm, you see, I happened to tell him that…well, I was discussing the possibility that…and I may have mentioned…"

"Jack?" she interrupted his nervous babbling.

"Yeah?" he replied innocently.

"Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

He stared at her, his mouth slightly open, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the smug look on Pete's face. "Uh, yeah. This wasn't how I saw this playing out, but I guess I could improvise. I wasn't exactly prepared for this, you know," he muttered, running his hands nervously on the couch by his thigh.

"Jack," Sara said calmly, though he could see that she was trembling. "Don't keep a girl waiting, huh?"

He threw himself to the floor at her feet and placed his hands on her knees, gazing into her eyes. "Be my mate?" When he saw her eyes go wide in surprise he realized what he had said and he had never before felt such a strong compulsion to kick his father's scrawny little butt. "Crap. I am so going to kill him. Forget I said that. Will you marry me, Sara?"

He saw her lips curve into a wry smile. "Be your mate?" she asked.

Jack began rambling incoherently. "See, yeah, that was just a cultural misunderstanding and I realize it wasn't exactly the most romantic thing to say at the moment and I'm really, really sorry I screwed this up and I would do anything to take it back, and Pete if you don't wipe that grin off your face I'm gonna do it for you, and I would be really, really grateful if you could forget the whole 'mate' incident and just answer the question, but given the circumstances I would understand if you'd rather never see me again but-"

"Jack!" she exclaimed, and leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

A few seconds later he pulled back, dazed. "Does that mean yes?" he asked hopefully.

She laughed. "Yes, Jack. But if you ever refer to me as your mate again I guarantee you'll regret it."

He just stared at her. "You said yes."

She smiled at his shocked expression. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I just made a complete ass of myself, and you said yes."

"I love you, Jack, and I know you love me. Just promise me you won't screw up our wedding, too."

He laughed and ducked his head, closing his eyes as he wondered what he had ever done to deserve a woman like Sara. He looked up and met her gaze again, suddenly completely serious. "I can't promise I won't screw up again, but I can promise I'll do my best to keep you happy."

She kissed him lightly. "I don't think that will be a problem, Jack."

Pete cleared his throat to get their attention. "For what it's worth, you couldn't be stuck with a better man, Sara. Despite the lack of tact under pressure."

"Thanks Pete," Jack muttered under his breath, completely embarrassed.

"And I'm sure you'll both be very happy together," Pete added sincerely. He settled back in the chair with a smug grin. "Now tell me, how did you two meet?"

Mission accomplished.

TBC


	10. Worth the Loss

Spoiler: Solitudes (Stargate, S1)

**Worth the Loss**

Jack regained consciousness with a quiet groan and slowly opened his eyes. He slammed them shut against the brilliant light of the sun, and just lay there for a moment in silence, trying to remember where he was.

And who he was.

He could feel the hot sand beneath him and reasoned he was either at the beach or he was in a desert. Which meant he could be either MacGyver sunning it up in LA or Jack O'Neill on a mission which, obviously, he had failed. He knew he had to have failed because of the throbbing in his head and the ache in his knees and searing pain in his leg.

He rolled over slightly so that his face wasn't turned up towards the sun and he once again opened his eyes, blinking at the harsh reflection off the bright sand. He shifted his hand slightly, running it along his hip, and instantly realized that at the moment he was Jack O'Neill, as evidenced by the sidearm strapped to his thigh.

He felt sick, about as sick as he had ever felt in his life. He came to this realization just moments before the meager contents of his stomach resurfaced and were revealed to the hot sand of the Middle East.

He was near the border of Iran and Iraq, he remembered that, and he had a vague understanding about his mission there but he couldn't recall the details. His primary focus at the moment would be getting home, safe and sound, to his wife. Sara.

The pain in his head grew worse the longer he was awake. He gingerly moved until he was sitting up, and glanced around to make sure he was alone before reaching up to touch his head to feel the extent of the damage. When his vision blacked momentarily and his hand came back with dried and sticky blood, he realized the situation was much, much worse.

Skull fracture, he was sure of it. It was hard to think, he couldn't get his thoughts to organize, other than to notice that his entire body was in a lot of pain, no doubt due to his impact with the Earth. His parachute had opened late and he hit the ground hard. He didn't even want to imagine the damage to his leg, it felt like all the bones had shattered and the idea of putting a splint on it made his eyes water at the imagined agony.

He flipped the cover off his watch to check the time but could barely make out the numbers through his blurred vision. He pulled out his water and took a sip, rinsing the foul taste from his mouth but swallowing the contents afterwards, knowing he couldn't waste any of the precious water while out here alone in the desert.

He fell back to the ground, sprawling out as comfortably as he could, careful not to touch his head, and closed his eyes, relaxing his muscles. He lay there for over an hour, concentrating on pushing the pain aside, on allowing his body to heal so that he could move quickly. He needed to get home, to get to safety, he was too exposed out here in the desert in hostile territory.

Sara was waiting for him back home. They were practically newlyweds, it had been less than two months since they were married, and he knew she would be worried about him. He hadn't wanted to leave her so soon but this mission was important and it wasn't like he could disobey a direct order. But for the life of him he couldn't even remember what the mission objective was. All he could think about was the last time he saw Sara, the confident smile she gave him before he drove away, wishing him luck and telling him to come home. He knew the smile was a façade just for him, that after he was gone she would break down, maybe even cry a little, probably call her father Mike and ask him to come over to keep her company.

He hated leaving her like that. He had to make it home, to see her again, so she would know that he would always be there for her.

It took him nine days to crawl out of that desert, to find safety at an American base. Nine days where the only thing to get him out of there were his thoughts of Sara. By the time they got him to the hospital he had collapsed from exhaustion.

The next time he woke up he was in a military hospital, his left leg in a cast, IVs replenishing his nutrients and fluids, heart monitors beeping, dimmed lights illuminating the drab walls. His eyes opened slowly as he heard footsteps outside entering his room and there was his commanding officer, General West.

"Glad to see you're awake, Major."

Jack frowned as his mouth refused to work. General West seemed to notice his struggle and stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Jack's arm. "It's alright, Major, take it easy. You banged up your head pretty hard. The doctors assured me that you'll be fine, that you've got all your motor function, you're just tired. Your memories ought to be intact but it's possible there was some damage to your brain that they couldn't monitor while you were asleep." General West paused for a moment, staring down at Jack thoughtfully.

When it was clear that Jack understood what he was saying, he continued. "You fractured your skull, Jack. With a hit like that, there's no telling what the consequences might be. The fact that you're still alive, that you got yourself to safety, is very promising, so don't you worry about a thing. Your wife is on the way to see you, she'll be here sometime tonight, I'll make sure they let her in. You're going to be okay, Jack."

Jack nodded his head, belatedly realizing that he shouldn't have done that, but was able to fight off the nausea of the movement. "Water," he managed to gasp out.

General West quickly brought a cup of water with a straw up to his lips, helping Jack take a small sip and warning him not to drink too much.

"How do you feel, Major? Need anything?"

"No," Jack rasped, thinking that all he needed was to see Sara and he would be alright.

West stayed with him for a few more minutes, saying words that Jack didn't listen to, not because he didn't care but because he was too tired to focus. He drifted off to sleep again and the next time he awoke, there was Sara, lovely as ever. He smiled and squeezed her hand that he had found holding his. She was asleep or dozing by his bedside, head on the sheets beside his arm, but when she felt his hand move in hers her head jerked up and their gazes locked.

"Oh God, Jack!" She exclaimed, and carefully leaned over him, kissing him gently on the lips allowing him to circle his arms around her back, embracing her. "You scared me," she said in a low voice.

"Sorry," he replied sincerely. "Didn't mean to. You know, I love you."

She laughed against his neck, where she had tucked her face during their half-embrace. "I know. You feel okay?"

Jack honestly considered his condition before answering her, knowing she would want the truth. "Head hurts, but otherwise I'm okay. I'm glad you're here."

He could see her swallow hard as she pulled away to resume her place on the chair, still holding his hand. "The doctors thought it would be best if I was here when you woke up. You've been unconscious for nearly four days, Jack."

This surprised him, he hadn't realized he'd been out that long.

She nodded her head up and down quickly, gazing into his eyes. "You were calling out for me. Saying you had to see me again." The first tears began cascading down her cheeks and she vigorously wiped them away. "Damn you, Jack, you're such a romantic fool. Why'd I have to fall for a flyboy like you?" she asked rhetorically, smiling at him.

He grinned at her. "My Irish charm, of course."

"Irish luck, you mean," she teased.

He chuckled, wincing slightly at the pain in his head. "Definitely. Lucky to have found you. I was right, you know. I had to see you again," he said somberly, reaching out to caress her cheek. She leaned into his touch, covering his hand with her own. "You got me out of there. I'm not sure I'd have made it if I didn't have the thought of coming home to you to keep me going. And yeah, I'm a romantic, but you married me anyway so you'll have to learn to live with it."

She laughed, her emotions catching in her throat, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and happiness that her husband was alive. "I could get used to it."

They stared at each other for a long moment, each dealing with their own emotional responses to having the other there with them. Eventually, Sara looked away first, glancing at a bag by her feet and reaching down to open it. "I brought you some things. The doctors said it might be a few days before they can release you, and I didn't want you to get bored. And I don't care what you say about boring people, being cooped up in a hospital will make even the most interesting people in the world want to pull their hair out."

Jack smiled at his wife's explanation, watching as she pulled a few magazines and a book out of the bag, setting them down on the table beside his bed. "Thanks."

She shrugged and began fidgeting with the sheets at his side. "It's mostly engineering magazines I brought from home, but I got you a subscription to National Geographic, I know how you love their stuff."

"Wow, you did that for me? Have I ever told you how much I love this whole marriage thing?" he teased, wanting to lighten the mood as he noticed that there was something that was unsettling her, as she had been speaking much too quickly and her hand was pressing down on the bed harder. "Sara," he said gently, and waited for her to look up at him before shifting over to the edge of the bed and lifting up the blanket for her to slide in beside him.

"No, Jack, you're injured."

"And I need you here. It's okay, Sara, it'll be okay. I just want to hold you, to let you know that I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Stay, please, I won't let you fall." He tugged at her arm and she easily gave in to his request, slipping off her shoes and sliding onto the bed beside him, tucking her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

"You'll let me know if I hurt you?" she requested and he nodded his head.

"I love you, Sara."

"Love you, too, Jack. I'm just…I was so scared. I mean, I just found you and…After you left for this mission I found something out and…Then they told me you had been missing and that you were badly injured and they didn't know if you would remember everything and I didn't want to burden you but…And I'm not supposed to get you excited, and we never actually talked about this but I know you'll be happy about it and..."

"Whoa, Sara, honey, slow down. You're not making any sense." He stroked the side of her face to calm her down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear so he could see her better. "Why don't you take it from the top? Is there something you want to tell me?"

She nodded, not breaking their gaze. "The doctors don't want you to get too excited, though."

"Screw the doctors. Whatever it is, it's upsetting you and that's upsetting me so just tell me."

She smiled, and turned slightly to reach behind her and grab the book she had brought with her from the table. She turned back to him, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, then his nose, then his lips as she placed the book in his hands. He looked at her curiously when she pulled away enough for him to see the book, and he glanced down at it suspiciously, wondering what she was trying to tell him.

He stared at the cover for a moment, too stunned to even breathe, and his eyes quickly darted to Sara's to confirm his beliefs. She smiled, her eyes bright with love and happiness, and she took his free hand and placed it against her belly.

"You're pregnant?" he gasped, tossing the book on baby care down towards his legs and out of the way as he turned to face Sara, staring down at her belly.

"We're going to have a baby, Jack," she confirmed, and he looked up at her face, still too stunned by the revelation to do more than stare at her. "You're going to be a father."

Her words finally spurred him to action, and in the next second he was kissing her possessively, running his hand up under her shirt to feel the skin over her belly, where he knew his child would be growing inside her. He could feel her laughing beneath him as he nearly rolled on top of her in his excitement, forgetting for the moment where they were and that he had ever been injured. "Oh God, Sara," he murmured against her lips. "I'm gonna be a Dad. We're gonna have a kid together, us, you and me, we're going to be parents. I love you, Sara, god I love you so much."

He rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top of him and holding her there, brushing kisses over her face as she laughed. Eventually they calmed down, and she dropped her head down to his chest, listening to his heartbeat while he ran his hands through her hair and over her back, just loving having her there with him.

"So I take it you're excited about the news," Sara observed casually, eliciting a playful slap to her backside from Jack.

"You bet your sweet life, I am. I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"You just love me for my womb?" she asked, feigning hurt disappointment.

"Among other things," he replied simply. He was too tired and too excited to play games anymore. "You okay?" he asked, noticing how she had settled down quickly and was nearly asleep sprawled across his chest.

She nodded, closing her eyes. "I was worried. You'll be a great father, Jack, but…I thought I was going to lose you and then I'd have to raise the baby by myself and he or she would never know you." She sniffed and ran a hand across her face and he realized that she was crying. "I'm just glad you're okay, Jack. Don't make me raise our child alone." She looked up at him then, the silent plea in her eyes nearly breaking his heart.

"I won't," he promised. "I'll always come back to you, Sara, and our child. Always."

She dropped her head back to his chest and they soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of their unborn child and their new life together as parents.

Some time later the nurse walked in and saw them laying side by side, Sara O'Neill's head on her husband's shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other. On the floor beside the bed the nurse saw a book and bent over to pick it up, smiling as she placed it on the table beside the bed. She quietly checked her patient's vitals, making notes on his chart, and silently left the soon-to-be parents in peace.

--

Over the next two days Jack was subjected to every medical test known to Earth science to determine the effects of his parachuting mishap on his brain function. In his spare time he read through the baby book Sara had given him, sharing interesting tidbits with anyone who would listen as he proudly exclaimed to practically the entire hospital that he was going to be a father and he was damn proud of it.

Sara came by as often as she could but he spent several hours alone each day with nothing but his books and magazines for company. When he finished the baby book and realized he still had two hours before his next examination he picked up one of the engineering magazines and examined the cover. He frowned thoughtfully, and flipped through the first few pages, scanning the table of contents and flipping through the rest of the magazine as panic began to set in.

He stopped on a story near the middle about a new advancement in fighter jets that he was already familiar with that was being applied to commercial aircraft.

He couldn't understand a word of what he was reading.

The magazine fell through his fingers and he stared down at it, disbelieving. He jumped from the bed and ran out of his room, ignoring the brace on his leg and the nurses calling after him as he scampered down the hall, dodging out of the way of other people haphazardly, shouting out random apologies for being in the way, and burst through one of the closed doors into a janitor's closet. He pulled various bottles from the shelves, examining the contents, looking over the names, and dropping them to the floor carelessly as he pulled out more bottles.

By the time one of the doctors arrived he was collapsed on the floor, surrounded by bottles of cleaning chemicals as he read their labels and threw them aside angrily. He clutched at his head, ripping off the bandage that was wrapped around his head, revealing the shaved scalp and healing wound.

"Major O'Neill," the doctor said calmly, soothingly. "What's wrong, Major? Are you in pain?"

Jack looked up at him, his eyes bright with fear and confusion. "I can't remember. I don't understand any of it, it's all just…It doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't make sense, Major?"

"Everything." He waved his hands at the chemicals scattered around him. "I know that I should know what it is but…I don't know it. Sodium hypochlorite, hydrogen peroxide, ammonia, I should know what these are but I don't. I can't remember."

"Are you a chemist, Major?"

Jack shook his head. "It's bleach, for crying out loud, everyone knows that. I just…I have no idea what it's for." He looked up at the Doctor again. "What's wrong with me?"

The doctor knelt down beside him, reaching out to put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "This may be a side effect of the head trauma, Major. Have you noticed anything else, any other knowledge you think you should have but you can't remember?"

Jack nodded. "I was reading an engineering article. I helped design this..." he struggled to find the word and settled for, "advancement, and I couldn't for the life of me understand what I was reading."

"You're an engineer?"

He nodded. "My Masters was in aeronautical engineering. I don't use it a lot but I made a suggestion to a guy and they followed through with it, kept me informed of their progress."

"Major, what is Newton's Second Law of Motion?"

Jack looked up at him blankly. "What?"

"What are the basic building blocks of all atomic elements?"

Jack was beginning to panic again. "I don't know."

"When was the Declaration of Independence signed?"

"1776," he responded immediately. "Fourth of July. Okay, see, I can remember history and my personal life, but when it comes to science I haven't got a clue. I just know I should know it."

"Major, we're going to need to run a few more tests and determine exactly what knowledge you seem to be missing."

"Will this end my career?" he asked, not knowing what he would do if he wasn't allowed to continue his military career as Jack O'Neill if he didn't have the scientific knowledge that allowed him to be MacGyver.

"That will depend on the extent of the damage. It's possible you can still have a fully functional career once you learn your limitations. Major, I think we should take this somewhere more comfortable. Let's go back to your room."

As he allowed them to help him to his feet he explained, "I didn't even notice anything was wrong until I tried to read that article. I mean I felt…normal."

"That's a good sign, Major."

--

It was nearly a month later before Thor could return to Earth to contact Jack. Jack had sent out a message over two weeks ago but Thor had been too busy with his duties as Supreme Commander to respond. He could only hope Jack was okay. Jack would have let him know if it was an emergency situation, in which case Thor would have come immediately.

He waited until Jack was alone before beaming him up to the ship, which took quite a while as the signature he now read as Jack's wife Sara was in the same house. As usual, Jack took the sudden, unexpected transport in stride, despite the fact that he was naked as the day he was born and soaking wet with shampoo in his hair.

He turned to Thor indignantly, lowering his hands from his hair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Dad. You know, your timing kinda sucks."

"I have been waiting for over four hours for you to be alone."

Jack continued to stare at his father. "Uh huh. And you couldn't wait until, oh let's say, I was out of the shower?"

Thor blinked innocently. "No. As you are aware, my time here is limited. I must return to my galaxy as soon as possible."

"Yeah well. I've got shampoo in my eyes. It stings, you know."

Thor wondered how it was possible that Jack whined more as an adult than he ever did as a child. He pushed some buttons on his computer screen and within seconds a bucket of water appeared in front of Jack. Jack scowled down at it but picked up the bucket and dumped it over his head.

He yelped, hurling the bucket away. "Thor! You could have at least warmed it up a little. Where'd you pick that up, the Arctic Circle?"

Thor beamed up the pair of pants from the bathroom where Jack had been showering and climbed out of his chair, handing them to Jack. "Actually, it is from a lake in Minnesota. It was thoroughly purified."

"Minnesota," Jack repeated as he yanked the pants out of Thor's hands. "It's about time you got here."

"I came as soon as I was able. You did not state it was an emergency."

"No. I just got some important stuff to tell you. Like you're going to be a grandfather." He huffed irritably as he pulled on the pants.

Thor blinked. "Sara O'Neill is carrying your child?"

"Yeah. How 'bout that?" Jack grinned. "I'm gonna be a father."

"This is joyous news. You seem happy, my son."

"Darn right, I'm happy. And Sara's amazing. I wish you could meet her."

"As do I. I have never seen you so happy, my son. I expect full visitation rights with your child until he is old enough to remember me."

Jack smiled, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head to get rid of the excess water. "I think that can be arranged. And you can give Heimdall my permission to examine my child's DNA, _non-invasively_. But only Heimdall. Any of you guys even so much as touch him or her without my permission then…well, I'll be very mad."

"Your child will be safe, Jack, I assure you. It will be family, and I will protect it as I have protected you. Was there some other matter of importance you wished to tell me?"

Jack's shoulders hunched forward slightly and he stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants. "Yeah. There was an accident on my last mission. I fractured my skull and there was some damage to my brain."

Thor immediately stepped closer to Jack, looking up at him as he reached out to touch his arm. "Why did you not inform me of this in your communication? I would have come sooner."

"No, Dad, there was nothing you could have done. I didn't realize there was a problem at first. They've done a ton of scans. I'm a medical marvel, or something like that to these folks."

"What is the problem, Jack? You seem to be in possession of all your mental faculties."

"Ah, no, see, I'm not anymore. You know how I always had an innate understanding of how things worked? Remember my science lab you gave me, and I could figure out how to make all those Earth devices work even though I never knew what they were for?" He didn't wait for Thor's reply. "Well, I can't do that anymore. At least, with science stuff. I don't remember how. I've relearned a lot of the basics, but my mind doesn't see things like it used to. It's hard to explain."

Thor tilted his head so far back that he almost fell over, so Jack knelt down so they were eye to eye, holding onto Thor's hand. "You do not understand your science lessons anymore," Thor stated for clarification.

"No, I don't. Everything I learned, here with you and on Earth, it's all gone. Languages are okay, which apparently doesn't explain why I can't remember scientific terms since it's practically its own language, and even history I can still remember and all the strategy for military operations. It's just the science. It took me three minutes to figure out how to use a blender, for crying out loud, but I'm getting a lot better. At least with simple stuff. I did some research on wormhole theory and it gave me a gigantic headache. I still don't get it."

"What of your position in the Air Force? Will they continue to allow you to work for them?"

"Yes, they're eager to have me back, once I understand my limitations. I've been promoted. Lieutenant Colonel Jack O'Neill. It'll be a while before they put me back on rotation for Special Ops, but they're confident I'm still Air Force material. Apparently, I impressed them with my escape from hostile territory with a broken skull."

"And your life as MacGyver?"

Jack hung his head. "Yeah. No going back there. I can't take the risks anymore, Mac was always about science. I've got nothing left in that life. Pete knows about my double life so I can at least keep in touch with him, but I had already committed to the rest of my life as Jack in order to be with Sara."

"Science was a major part of your life. Are you sure you will be okay?"

Jack smiled reassuringly, overwhelmed by Thor's concern for him. "Yeah, I'm fine. I have Sara, and soon I'm going to be a father. They're worth the loss. It's just one more challenge in my life, one more way to find the best way to be a leader."

"I have no doubt you will succeed, Jack O'Neill. As a leader, and as a father."

"I hope you're right. To tell you the truth, I'm a bit nervous. Being a father, I mean. I'm looking forward to it, I'm excited, thrilled, anxious, and at the same time I'm scared that I'm going to screw it up somehow. Sara says it's normal, I hope I get over it soon."

Thor tilted his head. "For the first year of your life I feared every day that I was making a mistake," he admitted. "The feeling never goes away, son. I have always feared for your safety, but I have learned that I must trust your judgment, as well as my own, in order to live. It is your love for your child which causes these feelings of anxiety, Jack. You will learn to control them."

Jack stared at his father for a long moment, then broke out in a huge grin. "My father, the philosopher. Does being a parent make you smarter?"

Thor paused as though considering the matter, and confidently replied, "Yes."

Jack chuckled, and pulled Thor into his embrace. "You're the best. I'll let you know when you become a grandfather. And thanks. Thanks for showing me how to be a great dad."

"You are welcome, my son."

"I better get back, before Sara starts to wonder why I'm still in the shower."

"Indeed. Take care, Jack."

"You too, Dad." He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the top of Thor's head, then backed away to allow Thor to beam him back to Earth.

A moment later he found himself once again in the shower, the warm water cascading over his shoulders…and his pants.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud."

TBC


	11. Father Squared

Spoilers: The Stringer (MacGyver S7)

**Father Squared**

Mac spent the next few weeks learning his new limitations caused by his head injury. He was wrapping up his life as MacGyver, fulfilling the final days of his contract with the Phoenix Foundation by exposing a Chinese labor camp, when he was presented with the surprise of his life.

His son. His very grown up son, whom he had never met and never even knew existed. Sean A. Malloy. SAM.

Well, wasn't that just a kick in the pants? Here he was, thrilled that he was about to become a father, when he could have had the opportunity nineteen years ago. He had been preparing himself to be a father to a baby, he wasn't ready to be a father to a teenage adult. Not that the boy had needed him in his life so far.

Oh crap, what was he going to tell Sara? How could he tell his son that he was going to disappear again, now that they had finally found each other?

The bad guys were finally vanquished and the illegal labor camps exposed, so there was nothing to distract him from getting to know his son. He did the only thing he could think of doing at the time. They hopped on their motorcycles and headed off across the country for some father-son bonding, though Mac already had their destination set for his home with Sara. He wasn't going to let her go through her pregnancy alone.

He was grateful that his son didn't blame him for not being there for him and his mother. If he had known, he never would have left his own son to grow up as an orphan.

Like father, like son. His kid was a survivor.

The first night of their cross-country voyage they camped out under the stars, like the free spirits they were. Mac tried unsuccessfully to start up a conversation, unsure where to begin and how to tell his son about his other life. Thankfully, Sam took the initiative.

"You don't mind me calling you dad, do you?"

Mac grinned up at the sky. "I don't mind. It's kinda nice, actually."

"You know, you didn't have to give up your job for me."

"I didn't."

"Oh?" Sam sounded amused and maybe just a little disappointed.

"Don't get me wrong, I would have. But this was in the works even before you showed up."

"Can I ask, why?"

"Look, Sam, there's a lot you don't know about me, and I'm sure there's a ton of stuff about you that I'm just dying to know and I hope you'll tell me all about it. But I think we need to ease into this a little, you know?"

Sam smiled knowingly. "Sure Dad. Get to know one another before we share our deepest darkest secrets."

"Exactly."

"You have secrets, Dad?"

"Sam," he said warningly, but in good humor.

"Right. Little things."

They spent the next hour chatting about the little things, nothing too deep or personal, but more than they would tell a complete stranger. The following evening Mac waited for his son to initiate the conversation again. They would have one more night together before he'd be home with Sara, and he was hoping to save that little tidbit from his son until tomorrow.

"So you never got married?"

Mac snorted, realizing his plan was just shot down. "Moving on from the little things?"

"What? It's a simple question."

"Oh, if only it were," he muttered under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean? Look, I know you loved my mother. I could see it, the way you looked at her picture. I understand why she did what she did, and it wasn't your fault. I wouldn't hold it against you if you fell in love with another woman besides my Mom. Does that make it any easier?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Oh. Bad experience?"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Dad, give me something."

Mac sat there quietly for a few minutes, tossing a stick into their small campfire. "I'm married, Sam."

"You are? But I thought…then why didn't I…You didn't know how to tell her about me, right? Is this going to be a problem?"

"No, it's not like that. I'd love for you to meet her, and I'm sure she won't have a problem with you being my son. Actually, we've got a kid on the way. Guess that'll make you his big brother."

"Really? Wow. When's the baby due?"

"A few months. Kinda ironic, huh? All my life, I've wanted to be a father, and suddenly, here I've got two kids."

"Yeah. Ironic. So why was that so hard to tell me? On second thought, why are you here with me instead of with your wife and unborn child? You aren't skipping out of raising another child, are you?"

"No!" he denied vehemently. "No," he repeated, more quietly. "I just wanted to spend some time alone with you. I have to get back to work in a couple months, and I just wanted time to get to know my kid. And, we're kinda headed for home, anyway," he admitted guiltily, hoping Sam would understand.

Sam didn't even seem to care about their predetermined destination. "Back to work? But I thought you quit."

"I, uh, I have another job. My work with the Phoenix Foundation was only part-time."

"Oh. So how'd you get so much time off? Seasonal work?"

"Not exactly."

Sam laughed at his father's cryptic answers. "Meaning?"

"I kinda, sorta, banged up my head a few weeks ago. There was some brain damage, and I'm trying to figure out what's missing. I've relied on science my whole life, depended on my brain and knowledge to get me out of all kinds of trouble. That's one of the reasons I had to resign from the Foundation. I've lost my edge in that department."

"Oh God, Dad. That's terrible. You don't seem like you've had any brain trauma."

"My motor function and speech are fine. It's mostly just the higher thinking, if you want to call it that. Physically, I'm great, and I've got instinct and strategy still working for me, street smarts, if you will. I'm still quick on my feet when I need to be. It's the science and advanced knowledge that's gone, and my memory's not so great anymore. I think we shared a natural instinct for understanding how the world works. The intelligence factor. Physics, chemistry, math. Imagine you didn't have that anymore."

"I don't think I can. That must have been hard for you."

"Took me a while to accept it, but I've learned to deal. Sara helped me through it. I can relearn a lot of the basics, but some things..." he trailed off with a shrug.

Sam was quiet, watching his father's expression. "Sara. That's your wife?"

Mac grinned. "Yeah. We've only been married about half a year." He scratched his head, thoughtfully. "I think. Five months? Something like that."

Sam laughed. "You know, that's really something you should know, if you're in that newlywed stage. Women like it when you remember anniversaries."

He scowled indignantly. "My son, giving me advice about women? And for your information, I can remember my anniversary date just fine, I just don't know how many months it is from December."

"Oh crap. Seriously?"

Mac frowned in embarrassment. "It's a number thing."

"I'm sorry. So that's what you mean, figuring out what's missing. Learning what you know and what you need to relearn."

"Something like that. I guess I'm lucky, in a way. My past, my history, it's all there. Friends, family, growing up, traveling the world, I remember all that."

"I guess it's something. Does Sara know what you're doing right now? Have you told her about me?"

He flinched guiltily. "Not yet. There's some things I have to work out. Things about me that you need to know."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"I never meant for it to be. My life, what I do, it's not exactly what you'd call typical."

"A special agent who never uses guns? I'd say it's atypical, yes."

He smirked. "That too. I meant what I said about guns, Sam. You understand that, right?"

"I get it, Dad. And for what it's worth, you're right. I'm glad you told me before I got myself killed."

"Yeah, well. That's what Dad's are for, eh?"

"I wouldn't know."

Mac didn't know what to say to that.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Nah, it's the truth. I don't know what I'd do if I suddenly met my birth parents. I don't think I'd really accept them as my parents. I hope you'll give me a chance to be the father I never was to you."

Sam looked at him curiously. "You were adopted?"

Mac glanced around nervously as though there might be someone watching. "I really want to trust you, Sam, but there's things I haven't even told my wife. This could get me in a lot of trouble, but I just don't know how to make this work if I can't tell you the truth."

"Make what work?"

"You and Sara. I want you both in my life, but with the way things are, and who I am, that won't work. I managed it with Pete but I can't ask the same thing of you. You and Sara are the best things in my life right now, I don't want to…screw it up."

"You won't. I won't let you. I've been looking for you for too long to give you up now. So what's the big secret, Dad? You might as well tell me. I'm a journalist. I'll figure it out sooner or later."

Mac laughed quietly at his son's passion. "Damn O'Neill curiosity."

"O'Neill?"

"Yeah, O'Neill. For crying out loud, I can't believe this. I've kept this secret my whole life, now suddenly two people know the truth. I just hope Sara will understand if she ever finds out. I should have told her before I married her, that really would have been the right thing to do."

"Dad. You're rambling."

"Right. It's just…I've gone my whole life protecting myself, it's a little hard to lay my life in anyone else's hands."

"You're not helping your case any. I'm actually starting to worry a little."

"Sorry. I'm going to start at the beginning, okay? It's not you I'm worried about, I think you can handle what I'm about to tell you just fine. But you need to know how serious this is."

"Whatever it is, I'll do what I can to help. If you don't want Sara to know about me…I guess I can live with that."

"No. I want her to know you." He paused to get his thoughts in order, figuring out exactly what needed to be said. "Okay. The beginning. The day I was born, my parents died in a car accident on the way to the hospital."

"So you never knew them. Obviously, someone managed to save your life."

"Yes. He became my father. He took care of me for a while, but eventually he knew I needed more human contact so he sent me to Mission City, Minnesota. I was…adopted by Ellen MacGyver. Her husband had passed away a few months before, so we kind of completed each other's lives, in a way. She had given birth to a child about a year before I was born, but he died a couple months later. She let me take his identity."

"You mean you assumed his identity?" Sam asked in disbelief. Or was that awe?

"Yes, I did. You have to understand, they never would have let her adopt me. She was a grieving widow and I had no identity whatsoever. No birth certificate even. Officially, I didn't exist. So I became MacGyver."

"Geez, Dad. That's quite a story. But why is it so hard for you to tell your wife about it?"

He cringed, looking down into the smoldering embers of the fire and mumbled, "Because with her I'm Jack O'Neill."

Sam stared at his father, not sure he understood that correctly. "Excuse me?"

Jack looked up and met Sam's gaze. "Because I'm also Jack O'Neill. She's married to Jack O'Neill. She doesn't know MacGyver even exists."

"You…You're leading a double life? For crying out loud, Dad, what were you thinking?"

"You don't understand, Sam."

"Then explain it to me. Is this why Mom felt you could never commit to her?"

Jack flinched. "I don't know. But it's who I am, Sam. I never pretended to be something I wasn't with your mother. I am who I am, no matter which name I go by. I had to do it. It was the only way to protect my friends, and family."

"Why? Who is Jack O'Neill? What does he do?"

Jack sat up straighter, looking straight into his son's eyes. "I'm a lieutenant colonel in the United States Air Force. Special operations."

Sam's eyes went wide in shock, his mouth partially open in protest. "What?" he gasped.

Jack softened his gaze. "It's the truth. I never meant to hurt anybody. The Air Force and Jack O'Neill was my professional life, MacGyver was my private life. It wasn't until I met Sara that I even considered that one identity could have both. When I married her I knew I would be giving up MacGyver. But now that you're here, I'm going to have to ask you if you can accept me as Jack O'Neill. If you can't…then Sara will have to accept me as MacGyver. I can't be both anymore. I'm still your father, whatever you decide. Just…don't leave, okay? I'm not a bad guy, Sam. Whatever I've done, I had a reason, whether it makes sense to you or not."

He took a deep breath, stunned by his own emotional confession and barely able to meet his son's eyes, but forcing himself not to flinch and look away. He could see Sam considering his options, weighting the facts, and he hoped his son would take into consideration that he had told him the truth.

Finally, Sam spoke. "So you're with the Air Force. Special operations, that would mean you use a gun."

"Yes, I do. To protect my team. But when I was off duty, when I came home and got to be MacGyver, working for the DXS or the Phoenix Foundation, I never touched them. By choice. It was a way for me to learn to look for alternative options to violence without putting other people at risk, so that I could eventually apply them to my job with the Air Force. What I do, it's important to a lot of people, Sam. It hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it."

Sam was still staring at him in disbelief, but he was beginning to understand just how important both lives were to his father. "So Sara doesn't know about MacGyver."

"No. I introduced her to Pete but he played along for me, called me Jack." He looked down at the ground, ashamed that he had made Pete lie for him. "I don't want her to get hurt. I've made a lot of enemies as MacGyver, a lot of the people I care about get hurt in the crossfire."

Sam could see the distress in Jack's eyes, and he hated being the cause of it. "You know, I hardly know you as MacGyver, Dad. You may as well be Jack O'Neill to me."

Jack whipped his head up to meet his son's gaze. "You're okay with that?"

"You did it to protect your family, right? Pete mentioned you've had contracts out on your head."

Jack nodded. "Another reason I'm giving up that life. I don't want to put Sara or the baby at risk. Or you."

"Nobody knows about me anyway. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you've got to be able to adapt and take what life gives you. You're my father. That's all I need to know. So technically I've got O'Neill blood rather than MacGyver, what difference does it make? You're just going to have to tell me all about Jack O'Neill, and my stepmother."

Jack smiled at the ground, overcome with pride and love for his son. He knew exactly how Thor felt, now. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to hug the stuffing out of you, okay?" He didn't wait for a response before kneeling beside Sam and throwing his arms around him, embracing him tightly. He could feel Sam laughing against him and returning the embrace, and he brought his hand up to Sam's head and ruffled his hair affectionately, kissing him on the forehead.

When they finally pulled away Sam smirked at him and said, "So Lieutenant Colonel Jack O'Neill is an affectionate teddy bear. I guess I can live with that."

Jack grinned down at the ground. "Sorry. I'm just…I'm just so proud of you, and the man you've become. And you're my son, for cryin' out loud, I have a right to be as affectionate as I damn well please."

This caused the grin on Sam's face to widen even further. "And defensive, too."

"Oh, blow it out your ear."

Sam laughed, falling over onto his side and hugging his stomach to control the spasms while Jack swatted at his arm playfully. "Oh God, Dad. I haven't laughed so much in a long time." He sobered up a little, sitting up again. "You could get in a lot of trouble if the Air Force found out about your double life, couldn't you?"

Jack sat back stiffly. "Yes, I could. I'm very careful, Sam, I've been covering my tracks for over twenty years. That's something I didn't lose with the trauma."

"And they're letting you stay with the Air Force?" Sam asked with wry amusement. "Because you do realize how many clichés I could come up with regarding military grunts and…"

"Hey!" Jack exclaimed, unable to hide his smile. "Just because I'm not a genius anymore doesn't mean I'm not smart. There's more to human understanding than conventional science."

"Yeah, I know. Everyone is good at something, if they want to be. And it's obvious you've got the motivation to do great things."

"Backatcha. You make one heck of a photojournalist, Sam. I'm really impressed."

"Thanks. So."

"So."

"I guess I'll get some sleep now."

"Yeah. Good idea. You know I…" he hesitated.

"What?"

"Nothing. G'nite, Sam."

"Night, Dad."

--

They pulled up to the current O'Neill residence late the following afternoon. Sara heard their motorcycles and stepped outside to meet her husband. When Jack saw her he yanked his helmet off, tossed it on the ground carelessly by the bike, and ran over to her, wrapping her in a big hug and kissing her thoroughly, running his hand over her stomach without thinking.

"Nice to see you too, Jack," she laughed when he finally let her breathe. "I've missed you, and so has the baby."

"Yeah?" He lifted her shirt and looked at her stomach critically.

"Jack!" she exclaimed, trying to pull her shirt back down, looking around in embarrassment at her husband's behavior in such a public place. That was when she saw the other man, leaning casually against his parked bike, watching them with amusement and affection. "Jack, who's your friend?"

He pulled back, looking at her straight in the eye, before glancing over at Sam. "Um, there's something we need to talk about."

She could see his unease, and knew he was going to have trouble telling her whatever he needed to say. "You aren't in trouble, are you?"

"No. Nothing like that. Maybe we should go inside." He held her gently by the arm and prodded her towards the front door.

"You want me to wait out here while you tell her, Jack?" Sam asked.

"Um, yeah. Maybe that would be a good idea. I'll come get you in a couple minutes, okay?"

"Take your time." Sam knelt down by the bike and began inspecting it, checking to make sure everything was still in good working order.

Once the door was closed behind them, Jack led Sara to the couch and helped her sit down, sitting on the table in front of her and clasping her hands.

"Who is he, Jack?"

"Just hear me out, Sara. I don't want you getting upset."

"Then tell me."

He rubbed his thumb nervously over her hands. "He's my son." Before she could accuse him of lying to her he began to explain at a rapid pace. "I swear I didn't know about him, Sara. His mother never told me she was pregnant when she left, and I never saw her again. I ran into him a couple weeks ago and he recognized me from an old photo his mother gave him, and seeing as I knew his mother…well there's no doubt that he is my son."

"Jack. Breathe."

He suddenly realized that was some great advice, and he took a moment to calm his nerves. "Sorry. I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea. I swear I didn't lie to you about him before, I honestly didn't know. And I didn't abandon my son either. I need you to know that."

"Yeah. I get that, Jack. It's okay, I understand. I'll admit, this is quite a surprise, but I'm learning that nothing is ever black and white with you. You remember his mother?"

He took a moment to read her expression, seeing no recrimination there, though the question could have been interpreted as distasteful. "Yes, I do. At the time, I loved her. She died in China about ten years ago."

"Then…who took care of him?"

"A couple friends of his mother took him in until he was old enough. He didn't know my name, so he couldn't try to find me. He's a survivor, all right. I wish I could have been there for him, I never would have…" He looked down at the floor, unable to meet her gaze any longer as anger and sorrow overwhelmed him.

He felt her hand on his chin, lifting his face up. "I know. You would have done anything for your son, if you'd known about him. And I'm not upset that you have a past, Jack. This is your son, for crying out loud, I'm not going to get in the way of that, okay? He's family, as much as the child inside me now is. He's welcome to stay here. What's his name?"

He barely comprehended the question, as he nearly lost the ability to speak. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Sara, overcome with feelings of love and devotion for her. Her amused smile finally shook him from his stupor and he shook his head slightly. "Sam. Uh, Sean A. Malloy actually, but he goes by his initials."

"Why don't you go invite him inside, Jack. You boys must be hungry after riding all day, I'll get you some lunch and something to drink."

"Right." Jack responded as though in a trance, and obediently got up to retrieve Sam. After taking just a few steps he rushed back and helped Sara to her feet, pulling her into another hug and kissing her shoulder because it was the only part accessible to him at the time. "I love you."

"I know." She chuckled. "I'm a lovable person. Now go get your son in here before I tell him what a weeping baby his old man is."

"He already knows. I'm a blubbering fool when it comes to family."

"I've noticed. There is one thing I have to ask of you, Jack."

"Anything."

She made him look at her face, her expression serious. "I know you'll want to do some father-son bonding, but I need you here. I don't want to go through this pregnancy alone and soon you'll be back at work. I don't want to have to compete against two Sam's, Jack. Uncle Sam takes too much of your time as it is. Be with your son, learn how to be a father, but don't shut me out. And I'm sorry if that sounds selfish, but that's the way it is."

He couldn't help but smile at her defiant tone. "This is why I love you, Sara." He kissed her forehead sweetly. "Always putting me in my place. We're a family, Sara. You, me, Sam and the little guy, or gal, inside you. Family bonding. We'll figure out who our son is together, okay? Matter of fact, how about you go invite him in and I'll get us something to eat?"

She smiled down at the floor. "And that's why I love you."

--

Five months later Charles Tyler O'Neill was born. Jack O'Neill held his son proudly, completely in awe of the tiny human life that he had helped to create, and would love unconditionally for the rest of his life. Beside him stood Sam Malloy, equally proud of his new status as a brother, and laying in the bed beside her three favorite men in the entire world, Sara O'Neill smiled contentedly.

High above Earth, aboard his Asgard ship the _Biliskner_, Supreme Commander Thor watched the touching scene before him in the form of a hologram, wishing he could be there to share this moment of joy with his only son. As he watched, he saw Jack look up towards the ceiling with a knowing smile, then turn to look directly at him with unseeing but deliberate intent, knowing exactly how Thor would have set up the hologram. He shifted slightly, turning the tiny boy in his hands so Thor had an unobstructed view of his second grandson.

But the thing he would remember most was the absolute happiness and sense of peace he recognized on his son's face. He would never forget that.

TBC


	12. Left Behind

Spoilers: A Matter of Time (Stargate, S2)

Warning: torture

**Left Behind **

_Three and a half years later_

The Air Force had tried to prepare him for something like this. They give him the spiel, put him through the training, subjected him to all the horrors imaginable so he would know what to expect. But the truth of it is, nothing could have prepared him for this, and he was in no condition to take the crash course.

Jack struggled to breathe through the pain as he curled up on his side, his hands tied tightly behind his back, trying not to think about what was going to happen to him. If they didn't do something about the bleeding bullet holes in his left thigh and his right shoulder, he wouldn't have to worry for long. He would be dead.

Getting shot hadn't been part of the plan. Someone on the inside had sold his team out, they were ambushed, he was hit, and…Frank booked it. His team had left him behind. Through the agony of the piercing round to his shoulder that knocked him off balance he had maintained consciousness. Even after the successive strike to his leg which knocked him off his feet he had attempted to crawl to his teammates and the pick-up site. As he fought to survive despite the excruciating pain in his limbs, expecting his team to come pick him up any second now, he looked up and saw them leave.

He watched the helicopter take off without him.

They had left him behind.

He didn't have long to think about it before he was surrounded by several very angry Iraqi soldiers, and after a single strike to the head he was knocked unconscious.

--

When he awoke he had no idea how much time had passed, but he was very aware that his leg and shoulder had gone untreated apart from a couple filthy pieces of cloth tied tightly around the wounds to stop the bleeding. Tight enough to cut off the blood circulation and thereby probably doing as much damage as good, and dirty enough to help a nice infection set in.

It didn't take long for the fever to show up, and he spent the next two days surrounded by the filth of his sickness, his captors only bothering to slap some disinfectant over his wounds, making sure to dig their fingers in viciously just to keep him happy, and give him multiple injections of what he suspected was antibiotics. No painkillers. He was pretty sure the bullet was still inside his thigh and he wasn't looking forward to the day their 'surgeons' removed it. His shoulder had clearly been a through-and-through, and he had some movement in his arm which was a good sign.

Then he was left alone. It must have been days, but he had no measure of time. They gave him enough water to stay alive, and even some food to ward off the hunger pains that threatened to overwhelm the pain in his leg and shoulder and the nausea of fever and infection.

They took his clothes. He knew the tactic was designed to heighten his humiliation, but as someone who had spent his formative years with an entire race of naked people, it didn't have the desired effect on his psyche. However, it did have a physical one, as he was left more vulnerable to the elements, especially during the cold of the desert night.

He didn't know how long he had been lying in that cold, dark room, his hands still tied behind his back, his hips bruised and sore from the hard floor, before they finally came for him and dragged him outside, throwing him down face first into the sand. He came up with a mouthful of sand and grit, spitting it out and blocking out the pain.

They left him out there for hours, and he was too tired and hurt to move. They tied his feet together and bound his hands to a nearby post so he couldn't easily escape. Eventually the heat of the sun began to take its toll on his physically abused body and his mind. When he saw his mother and grandfather Harry he realized he was hallucinating but it was nice to see them again so he didn't mind. He was always seeing crazy things when he was near death.

They left him out there all night, and though the bitter cold and blowing sand were less than appealing, it gave him a beautiful view of the stars. Despite his condition and impending treatment, he almost felt at peace. Wherever he was on Earth, no matter how bad things got, he had always been able to look up at the night sky and know that his father was out there. That he wasn't alone, and never would be. It was a clear night, he could see hundreds of thousands of stars, endless and infinite. It was so heart-wrenchingly beautiful. He couldn't believe he could find anything beautiful about his situation, but the stars of the galaxy were calling out to him, beckoning him with their soft, gentle light, welcoming him, inviting him into their warm embrace.

The harsh light of day changed all that. Once more he was dragged unceremoniously inside and thrown down on a hard concrete floor, but there was someone there with him this time. The interrogation was about to begin.

He gave his name, rank and serial number, as was expected, daring to look his interrogator in the eye. His high rank wouldn't do him any favors in this place, as they would expect him to have more knowledge about the American military movements. He braced himself for the occasional punch to the gut or the face or cruel fingers poking his wounds. They didn't do anything that would seriously incapacitate him and he absently noted that the guy asking him the questions didn't seem all that happy about his job. The guy was just following orders, no doubt. He couldn't really sympathize, but it did give him some hope, not that he would expect any special treatment.

A few hours later he was thrown back in his cell and he was too exhausted from his ordeal to cushion his fall. He fell on his arm awkwardly and screamed as something in his shoulder snapped. With his hands still tied behind his back and blood and pus seeping out of the gunshot wound, he wearily sat up and slammed his dislocated shoulder against the wall until it slid back into place. He curled up on the floor and whimpered softly, fighting back tears of agony.

He fell asleep thinking of Sara, Charlie and Sam, and the last time he had seen them all together. It had been Charlie's third birthday and Sam had dropped by for the week to celebrate with them. Jack had just returned from a three-month stint overseas and he was more than ready to spend time with his family. He hated that he was missing so much of Charlie's life. He had already missed out watching one son grow up, he hated that he was doing the same thing with his other son.

He remembered Charlie's fascination with Thor, how the little boy had clung to his grandfather with innocent trust, and he had wondered if that was how he had been with Thor. He hoped so. Charlie was two during Thor's last visit, and that would be the last time they could be together.

His thoughts inevitably turned to Thor. He had promised his father that he would never ask for his help on a mission. He had kept his promise after the parachuting mishap, struggling alone across a desert in hostile territory for nine days until he made it to safety, never expecting a rescue because of the nature of his mission. He could have died, but he didn't ask Thor for help. He had to rely on himself, to depend on his people and his own wits to get him out of danger, but this time, he didn't think he had the strength to wait for help to arrive or to save himself.

He was too badly hurt to escape on his own feet, and judging by the treatment they had given him so far, it would take a long time for the leg wound to heal, if it ever did. His condition would deteriorate over the weeks given the meager meal portions he was given until he would hardly have the strength to walk, not to mention the muscle atrophy from staying off his injured leg. Apart from the physical deterrence of his condition, there was also the matter of an escape plan, in that he didn't have one. There was nothing useful in his cell, and from what he had seen so far when they dragged him through the compound, even if he still had his genius intuition this was one place where MacGyverisms were in short order. There was nothing but walls and concrete floors and dirt.

And his team thought he was dead. Cromwell would report him as MIA, suspected as KIA and there would be no rescue mission mounted for him. Eventually someone might hear word of his survival but he doubted anyone in Washington would care whether he made it home or not. He was good at his job but so were a lot of other men like him.

It was ironic, when he thought about it. He had spent his whole life preparing for a war against the Goa'uld, knowing he might never actually face them in real battle, and he had already lost his edge for that war. His scientific background of the Stargate and the Asgard and Ancient technology had been wiped clean from his brain. Now he might lose his life to an enemy right here on his home planet, because of the negligence of a man he thought was his friend. All his life, his enemy had been a distant concept, an abstract idea that he knew existed but couldn't reach.

Now, his enemy was literally gripping him by the arms, dragging him roughly to an interrogation that involved very little interrogating. And there wasn't a thing he could do to get out of it. All he could do right now was hope for a rescue.

Within the next two weeks, that hope began to fade.

--

It had been about a month before they removed him from his isolation room and threw him in with the other prisoners. Once there, he realized that he would have preferred the remoteness and safety of being alone in his prison cell with nobody to bother him but the man responsible for his interrogation.

His shoulder had more or less healed but it was very weak and had little mobility, and he walked with a heavy limp, unable to bear much weight on the damaged leg. Their surgeons had finally removed the bullet two weeks ago and had most likely done more damage than help. Physically, his overall condition seemed among the most severe of the other prisoners he was locked up with, which left him more vulnerable to attack and the desperation of hungry men.

These people followed an entirely different set of rules. It was every man for himself, and it didn't matter what you had to do to another human being, as long as you survived. There was no hope here. There were men with their hands cut off, some with their tongues cut out, and even if they could have their freedom there was little they believed they could do with it. It made him sick to see humans treated like this, and as much as he wanted to help them, to give them some kind of hope, he knew it would do no good. This wasn't a battle he could win.

On his first day in the general population he proved to everyone that he wouldn't go down without a fight. He was the only American and it was obvious they had little love for his kind, regardless of what perceived crimes had landed them in this prison. Two men tried to steal his portion of food, knocking him across the head to stun him, but he retaliated with cool instinct, breaking the first guy's nose and knocking the other guy unconscious with a single blow to the head. Expecting a fight and spurred on by a mob mentality as well as a chance to take out their hatred on the American, they came at him in pairs. It took a broken knee, a dislocated shoulder, another broken nose and a severely bruised trachea to convince the others that they'd be better off leaving the American alone.

The next day he was taken away for another interrogation session and when he was thrown back in the shared cell, unconscious from the electrical current that had passed through his body and nearly stopped his heart, he was unable to protect himself from a few retaliatory and well-placed kicks to his ribs and back. When he finally regained consciousness his cellmates could all see the transformation that had taken place, the pure hatred radiating from his eyes and the determination to survive. With a single glare he warned everyone never to touch him again or they wouldn't live to regret it.

He didn't like Earth, anymore. He had learned his lesson: Earth was no better than any other planet out there and humans were no better than the Goa'uld. He couldn't bear to associate himself with these people, but if he wasn't careful he would become one of them. He wasn't that desperate yet. He could already feel it inside him, the hatred and rage towards his captors and his prison mates who made his life a living Hell. He wasn't like them, not yet.

He wasn't human. He was Asgard.

He began to block out all his emotions, presenting an indifferent front and only a vague awareness of what was happening to him. The others left him alone, remembering what he was capable of despite his apparent descent into the comfort of insanity. But he wasn't insane.

He was Asgard. Thor had never given in to torture, and despite everything he had witnessed in his thousands of years he was still fighting for good, protecting his people and other humans and races that deserved to live. He was still fighting evil, though even Thor had to draw the line somewhere, making sacrifices and conceding some control to the Goa'uld because he and the Asgard couldn't honestly save the entire galaxy.

Jack would be like him. He would bury his emotions so deep that there was nothing left but the military man. Survival was no longer about protecting his body, keeping his heart pumping and his blood running. It was about protecting his soul from the evil that man does. Like so many other obstacles he had overcome in his past, the accidents and bad timing that left him bearing the blood of the innocent on his hands, he had to learn to live with the pain. It was a part of who he was, it would shape who he would become, and he couldn't allow himself to succumb like the others had. He had to walk a fine line between getting what he wanted and getting what he needed.

When he made it back home, if he ever did, he would have to live with the consequences of his actions. He would have to face Sara, and his little innocent boy, Charlie, and he couldn't bear the thought of ever tarnishing their lives. He would do what he had to do in order to get home to them but he would have to draw a line somewhere.

Which is why he withdrew from everything and everyone. He stopped responding to the others. He didn't speak to anyone, ignoring those who approached him to the extent of turning his back on them. He sat alone with his back to the wall, or spent a few hours each day working on his injured shoulder and leg, a self-imposed rehab session which some of the others began to imitate because there was honestly nothing better to do.

When the others started fighting, or beating one of the other inmates he didn't try to stop them, no matter how much it hurt not to be able to help. He had to think about himself and his commitment to getting home to his family, and putting himself in the way of other people's fights was a sure way of getting himself killed.

He didn't like what he had become in that prison, and no matter how hard he tried to block it all out, he couldn't help but hate Frank Cromwell for his part in instigating the transformation. All he had left was his love for his family and his hatred of Frank Cromwell and Iraq.

--

He had made a big mistake. It wasn't that he actually enjoyed antagonizing the interrogator, it was more that he was bored with being tortured so ruthlessly and had decided to spice things up a bit.

After a couple malapropisms which compared his torturer with something that would have his mother washing his mouth out with soap, a few harsh words regarding the décor and hospitality of the joint, and a rather cheerful oratory of how much he was going to enjoy tearing the life from each of his captors, Jack was now the proud owner of a broken rib, several raw strips of torn flesh on his back, a split lip that needed stitches but which wouldn't get it and a face so swollen and bruised that his right eye was swollen shut and he could barely move his jaw.

He felt great.

They threw him back in isolation, he wasn't sure why, but he wasn't going to complain. He preferred being alone, even if it was meant to drive him crazy. Nobody came for him for over a day, and he was thirsty and hungry and he hurt like the blazes but he wasn't going to complain. It wouldn't do any good anyway.

He curled up on the floor, facing the wall to provide his front with the most protection for when the goons returned for him, and he tried to sleep. Sleep was the only escape from the pain and the agony of his life, though it had been weeks, or maybe months, since he could actually remember the faces of his loved ones in his dreams. He could hardly remember the color of Sara's eyes, and he could barely recall the face of his youngest son, the sound of his laughter and his sweet young voice saying 'Daddy, love you.' His family was the only thing to keep him going and he couldn't even remember what they looked like.

"Hey!"

Jack tried to ignore the harsh whisper coming from the locked doorway. The voice sounded American, but they had tried to trick him before, simulating an escape attempt, but his 'savior' had slipped up and tried too hard to get information from him and he knew it was a trap. He wasn't surprised they would try it again.

"Hey, buddy. You speak English? Are you…are you even alive?" The voice trailed off at the end.

Okay, that was different. The voice sounded familiar, and if he didn't know any better he'd think it was…

Very carefully he rolled onto his torn-up back and looked up at the narrow window slit in the door, peering through his swollen black eye, trying to distinguish the face on the other side.

"I'm looking for the American. Have you seen him, do you know where he is?"

He blinked his eyes, unwilling to believe what he was seeing and hearing. With a great effort and an even greater amount of pain, he rolled onto his hands and knees and slowly crawled to the center of the room, closer to the door.

Closer to the apparition of Sam.

"Oh God, Jack!" There was no mistaking the voice now, that was definitely his son, Sam Malloy, and if he hadn't been so shocked and happy and grateful and overwhelmed by his son's presence, he would have had something to say about his son pulling a foolish stunt like this to come and rescue him. "Just hang on, Dad, I'll get you out of here. Jack, I found him, give me a hand."

He heard something scraping the door, metal on metal, then suddenly the door swung open and his son was there, kneeling in front of him. And just behind his son was Jack Dalton, looking amazed, shocked, grateful and disgusted all at the same time. "Oh God, Mac. What did they do to you?" Dalton whispered.

"Can you move? We need to get out of here in a hurry, our ride's out back," Sam added urgently in hushed tones.

Instead of trying to respond, Jack grabbed onto Sam's wrist and struggled to pull himself to his feet, grateful that he had spent the last couple months working on rehabilitating his injured leg. He had no idea how Sam and Jack had managed to get into the prison complex in the first place, or how they were going to get him out of there given his condition, but for the moment, he was just going to let them take care of everything. He was too weak, too injured, too hungry and emotionally withdrawn to think about anything but the fact that someone had finally come for him.

Although he was fiercely proud of his son for coming to rescue him, even in his current state of only slight awareness and comprehension it really irked him that his son had to risk his life for something that never should have happened. Any chances of patching things up with Frank were gone now that Sam had been put in danger.

Jack stood between Sam and Dalton as they half-carried, half-dragged him through the compound, his bare feet sliding painfully across the floor when he lost his step. Several times they were forced to slow down as they passed others in the narrow hallway but with their disguises concealing their faces and Jack strung up between them, it looked like they were just two guards transporting a prisoner.

Then suddenly they were outside and Jack flinched at the harsh daylight and was immeasurably grateful when Sam tucked a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. He didn't think it went with the masquerade but he wasn't going to argue.

They dragged him out back, through the sand and Jack could see several vehicles parked there, looking dusty and overused and he was sure they were being held together with his beloved duct tape in vital places. They approached one of the jeeps and Sam reached in, pulling out a white robe which he slung over Jack's shoulders. He hissed in pain as the cloth rubbed against his torn flesh but he certainly wasn't going to cry about it. Dalton helped him climb into the passenger seat of the truck, whispering "Hang in there, buddy, we'll get you home," and he didn't spare the time to wonder if Jack Dalton was mad at him for all the deceit and for disappearing from his life without explanation. It didn't matter, his friend was here for him now and his own team wasn't.

Dalton got behind the wheel of the vehicle and started the engine, heedless of the need for caution now, and they sped out of there, the sand blasting up behind them. Jack groaned and whimpered as his injured body was rocked and tossed around over every bump.

He heard distant shouting behind him as the prison guards were alerted to their escape, but a moment later, after a distinctive click from the back seat, there was a massive explosion and curiosity forced him to turn around, where he saw a massive fireball rising into the sky where the vehicles had once been. As he continued to watch he realized that nobody would be coming after them and he allowed himself to relax. His son had certainly followed in his footsteps and enjoyed a good explosion as much as he did.

As they were flying across the desert sands, away from that hellhole, that stinking prison that took so much of his life, he fell sideways on the seat until he was leaning against Dalton's shoulder. Needing the contact of a human being, of a friend, of family, he clung to Dalton's arm, to his leg, digging into the thick robes he was wearing, afraid to let go and find out it was all a dream. He ignored the pain in his shoulder, ribs, jaw and legs, and he laid his head against Dalton's shoulder. He was sure he heard his friend grunt something about being ticklish, but he was too busy wrapping himself up in the warmth of friendship he didn't think he could ever let go.

He still couldn't believe it.

TBC


	13. Coming Home

Author's Note: This is the final chapter for now, I only promised you through Iraq. I've been trying to write more through the Stargate years but my ideas so far involve a lot of rewriting episodes, which I hate to do. I really wanted to post this story so I concluded it here so you wouldn't flay me for leaving a story incomplete. When and if I feel the rest is finished I'll post it here. Feel free to offer advice on which moments in the series you would like to read about given Jack's history as MacGyver and his relationship with Thor. The more reviews I get the more inspired I'll be.

My sincerest thanks to everyone who reviewed, you make it so worthwhile.

-Bixata

**Coming Home**

Hours later, as night began to fall, they finally stopped. Jack was close to passing out but they weren't safe yet so he couldn't risk it. He disentangled himself from Dalton's side as Sam hopped out from the back, offering his arm to Jack to help him out of the vehicle. Once he was securely on the ground he wrapped his arms around his son, and hung on for dear life, burrowing his face into Sam's neck. "Sam."

"You're safe now, Dad," Sam whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I've got you. We're taking you home."

"Sara? Charlie?"

"They're fine. Sara and Charlie are waiting for you back home, they're both okay, just anxious for you to return. I promised them I'd bring you back. I told them you'd never give up, that you were still alive."

He felt his limited strength sapping and Sam had to lower him gently to the sand. He sat with Sam's arm behind his back holding him upright, and looked up at Jack Dalton standing in front of him with his arms folded across his chest, clearly trembling in distress at seeing Jack's condition. "How'd my son con you into this, Jack?" he asked, trying for humor but it had been so long since he'd had a reason for it that it fell far short.

Dalton knelt down in front of him, his expression serious. "He said Mac's in trouble. And if I'd known what you were going through sooner I'd have blasted that place sky high months ago. If you need anything…anything…I'm there for you, friend."

Jack reached out shakily with his left hand and Dalton took it, his lifeline as Pete had once been for him when he needed him most. "Be an uncle to my sons?"

Dalton grinned, his eyes twinkling with unshed tears. He clasped Jack's hands in both of his. "You even have to ask?"

For the first time in four months, split lip and all, Jack smiled.

--

_Three months later_

Jack sat alone on the dock outside the cabin he had inherited from his grandfather Harry and sold to himself for the bargain price of one hundred dollars to put the paperwork under Jack O'Neill's name. At the moment, none of that mattered. Nothing mattered except for the pond under his feet, the fishing pole in his hand, and the four people still asleep in the cabin behind him. And Dad, wherever he was.

He knew he shouldn't be out here alone but he'd been having trouble sleeping, the pain and memories were still too strong for comfort. It was late November and the pond was semi-frozen, thin patches of snow covered the grass. The sun was just coming up and he could see his breath in the faint light.

He loved Minnesota. He'd fought in Vietnam, East Germany, Russia, Afghanistan, Colombia, Honduras, Iraq and many others for Minnesota. It was his little paradise, his sanctuary on Earth. It was the one place other than his father's ship that he felt safe and at peace. It was obvious to anyone who knew him that this was his home. Even Charlie.

It had been Charlie's idea to come up to the cabin, to make his Daddy happy again. Since Jack's return from Iraq he had been distant and unapproachable, no matter how hard he tried to get things back to normal, to the way they were before he was imprisoned and tortured. Physically, he was still recovering. He'd undergone several surgeries to remedy the damage done by his captors and their 'doctors', and aside from that, he still had the scars and slowly fading bruises which prompted him to hide himself from his wife and sons.

He knew it didn't matter to them what he looked like, they were just glad to have him home, and he was glad to be home. He had accepted what happened to him like every other trial and loss he had overcome, and he had moved on. He had his family and he would do anything to protect them, even from himself. Emotionally, he was there for them, but it was the physical part he was having trouble with, which was very confusing for him because he was not a particularly vain man.

It may have been because he had spent his entire life hiding who he was, but he couldn't hide what had been done to him in Iraq. He couldn't hide the horrors of war from his young, impressionable son.

He reeled in the fishing line slowly before casting it out again. He could hear someone moving around in the cabin and he guessed it was Sara.

She had been great for him. She wasn't too overbearing and she didn't try to coddle him. She treated him the same, albeit a little more gently because of his injuries, and she didn't take any excuses. Although he didn't exactly open up his feelings to her and talk about what was going on in his head he felt safe around her and she recognized that.

She came out of the cabin, making enough noise not to startle him suddenly. "Jack? Honey, what are you doing out here? It's freezing."

He looked over his shoulder at her and fought the urge to laugh. "Well, yeah, when you're wearing boxers and a T-shirt. I'll be right in, go wrap yourself in a blanket or something, you're making me cold just looking at you."

She smirked but hurried inside and he reeled in the line and put the fishing pole away. He took one final look out across the water before limping slowly towards the warmth of the cabin.

Sara met him at the door with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Holding the ends, she spread her arms out for him to join her under the blanket. He gently moved into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder as she pulled the blanket around his back and leaned the side of her face against his chest.

"You're ice cold, Jack," she said dryly. "It's like hugging a popsicle."

He chuckled against her neck and started swaying their bodies in a gentle dance, barely shifting their feet.

"That's better," she murmured with a contented sigh. "We haven't danced since our wedding."

"Good day," he whispered reverently.

"Yes, it was."

They swayed in silence for several minutes until the shrill scream of the water kettle informed them that the water was ready for coffee.

"I should get that," Sara said, though she didn't even pretend to move for it.

"You're probably right." If anything, he held her tighter.

The whistling continued unabated until one of the bedroom doors flew open and Sam hurried out, his eyes blinking rapidly as his left hand sleepily scratched his head then rubbed his face. He paused as he caught sight of Jack and Sara hugging, then with a barely discernible shrug he stepped around them and went to the kitchen, removing the kettle from the stove top as he turned down the heat before pouring the hot water into the filter of the coffee pot. He blinked and stopped pouring when he realized there were no coffee grounds in the filter, and with an embarrassed glance back at his parents to make sure they hadn't witnessed his half-asleep blunder, he dumped out the filtered water, added coffee grounds to the filter, then poured in some more of the hot water.

While Sam was waiting for the coffee to filter another door opened and Pete Thornton called out, "What on Earth was that insufferable racket?"

Sam had to smile at that. He adored Pete like an uncle and the older man loved to regale him with stories about his dad and the crazy stuff they'd pulled. It was times like this, while Pete was in his mock rant phase, that endeared him to his father's best friend, and to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure why. "It's just the coffee, Pete. Don't step on the two love birds in the living room on your way out."

"Love birds? Really? How'd they get in here?"

Sam smothered a laugh and he would have sworn he heard Jack and Sara do the same, muffling what could only be described as giggles against each other's shoulders. "I meant my parents, you old fool," he said teasingly.

"I knew that," Pete said defensively.

"Sure you did," Sam mumbled good-naturedly.

Pete found his way to the sofa and sat down, grimacing as he lifted himself back up half-way and pulled a tiny baseball glove out from under him. "Oh, my. We wouldn't want Charlie to lose this now, would we?"

Jack and Sara were still swaying to non-existent music but Sara glanced over at the little glove and smiled fondly. "He's going to be an athlete, just like his father."

"Yeah, but baseball?" Pete asked incredulously. "Hockey's in his blood. Like Minnesota."

"Well, I guess he's starting a new O'Neill tradition," Sam compromised. "And like Dad always says, at least he's having fun."

Pete conceded to that logic and carefully set the glove beside him on the couch, happy to let the boy have his fun. "Where is my favorite four year-old anyway? He didn't wake up with that infernal screaming?"

"Guess not," Sam replied as he poured the coffee into four mugs and carried one out to Pete, guiding the blind man's hands to safely hold the hot coffee cup. "He had a bit of trouble sleeping last night. He's so excited to be here he didn't want to waste any time sleeping when he could be playing with Mom and Daddy and Uncle Pete," he gave his voice a childlike inflection.

At that moment there was a tiny thump from Sam's bedroom followed by the pitter patter of little feet as Charlie emerged, his arms wrapped around his favorite stuffed animal: E.T. He had yet to see the movie.

"Daddy!" Charlie called out and looked around until he saw his mom and dad, then ran over to them, lifting his arms up to be held.

Jack pulled his good arm away from Sara and bent down, grabbing Charlie around the waist and scooping him up, propping him against his hip. "Whoa there, sport, you're getting big."

Charlie shifted and wriggled until he was in front of Jack with his arms around his neck, E.T. snuggled safely between them. "You okay today, Daddy?"

Jack placed a kiss on his son's forehead. "Yeah, I'm okay, Charlie. How about you? Did you sleep well?"

"Uh-huh," Charlie mumbled as he pressed his face against Jack's chest. "Love you, Daddy."

Jack smiled over at Sara and pulled her arm until she was hugging both him and Charlie. "Love you too, Buddy. It was a good idea for us all to come to the cabin. You did good, thank you," he whispered as he swayed gently with Sara and Charlie.

"You're welcome," Charlie replied proudly, pleased with himself for making his dad happy.

They rocked in silence for a while, Sam and Pete respecting the moment, sipping quietly at their coffee. Eventually, Charlie began to squirm.

"Guess it's time to start the day," Sara conceded as she took hold of Charlie and lowered him to the floor. "Let's get you some breakfast, young man. What do you think, Jack? Pancakes and bacon?"

Charlie excitedly agreed with a loud squeal of glee. "With chocolate chips and powdered sugar!"

Sara cast a glare at Jack, worthy of any General. "Jack? What have you been feeding our son?"

Jack smirked innocently. "Wasn't me."

She turned her death stare on Sam. "Sam?"

Sam's eyes were wide with surprise as he shook his head. All eyes turned to Pete.

"What?" Pete exclaimed defensively. "He's my godson. It's my job to spoil him."

"Spoil me!" Charlie shouted happily, clapping his hands together.

Jack could almost forget he had ever been left behind.

--

Jack gazed down at the planet Earth, a jewel in the vast chasm of space, and wondered what the world would have been like if Thor hadn't saved him when he was a child. It was a grand idea, too big for him to truly contemplate, but it was something the Asgard Council was reviewing with interest. Could one man really make a difference?

He thought so.

He glanced over at his father as Thor stepped up beside him. "Hey, Dad. How's it going?"

"I believe the decision will be in your favor, son."

"You think so?" He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. "It's a nice planet," he nodded his head towards the display window, indicating Earth. "We've got our problems, but overall…it's a nice place."

"Indeed. A planet worth saving."

"Yeah. Of course I'm a bit biased, what with my family being down there and all."

"My family as well, O'Neill."

Jack smiled. He always loved it when Thor got all sentimental. "How old are you again?"

Thor took a moment to consider his answer. "We are only as young as the company we keep."

Jack slowly turned to him, lifting his eyebrow in amusement. "Seriously? That's all you got?"

"Wisdom does not come with age, but with experience and contemplation."

"Okay, now you're just trying to confuse me with cheap platitudes. I am so onto you."

"What we understand is not often what is real, but what is in our hearts."

"Fine. Okay. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And you, dear father, fed me processed food cubes. I am so not feeling the love with that."

"A child does not appreciate what he does not know he shouldn't have."

It took him a moment, but Jack burst out laughing once he was able to fully translate the clever phrase. "That is so true. I tell my son he can't have it, it's all he wants. I suppose that's your subtle way of telling me Earth isn't ready for the truth about the Stargate."

"I determined it to be a fitting segue to the matter."

"It's not that I mind not being able to explore the galaxy, travel to other worlds, meet the interesting people and kick goa'uld tail. I like my life here, all the things I've done, the people I've helped. I love my family. I could spend the rest of my life happily retired, living on my glory days and raising my boy, and still feel like I've made a difference. Every person I help is someone who could some day save this world. Every peace treaty, every wilderness preserved, every child at the Challengers Club, it's all the little things that make us who we are. I don't need to lead my people through the Stargate to feel like I've prepared Earth for exploring other worlds. I think I'm doing exactly what I was meant to do.

"It's the fact that I can't do anything for the people out there on other worlds that really bothers me. We've got plenty of folks here in need of help too but…There's an entire galaxy out there suffering under the rule of the System Lords. All it takes is one person to translate an alien language and we could be out there now. We have the technology. Just one person to make the difference. How do you measure human evolution on a global scale when one person can make the difference between enlightenment and the Dark Ages?"

"The question becomes, who do your people follow?" Thor stated wisely. "The one who is enlightened, or the one in the dark?"

"Who, indeed."

They stood there in silence for a long moment, troubled by their thoughts.

"I am very proud of you, my son," Thor stated solemnly. "I have learned much from you."

"I think it's a given I learned a lot from you as well, Father. I wouldn't be the man I am today if you hadn't been here for me. When I was in Iraq…" he hung his head and took a deep, steadying breath. "There were a couple nights they left me outside. I could see the stars, and I knew you were up here somewhere, still fighting, protecting your people and mine, and that gave me the strength to survive. You were there for me when I needed you, you pushed me to be independent and take my life into my own hands when I was ready. But Charlie still needs me. He needs me to be there for him, like you were there for me. Like I should have been there for Sam. And at this point in my life…I'd rather be a father than a hero." He smiled and shrugged. "Because in Charlie's eyes, I'm both. Like you are for me."

Thor blinked rapidly. Jack was not often given to moving speeches, but Thor had never heard anyone speak from the heart as eloquently as his son. The only thing he could say in response was- "I believe they will choose chocolate."

"Chocolate's good," Jack replied casually, completely following the redirection of the conversation.

"With vanilla frosting."

"I like vanilla. You'd think it wouldn't take the Asgard Council this long to choose a birthday cake."

"There are many things on which the Council must deliberate with haste. Selecting a birthday cake for the only son of the Asgard is a more delicate proposition."

"You can tell them the son of Thor enjoys diversity in life. And that he ages quickly. He would like his cake sometime within the next century."

"I have spoiled you, Jack."

"I want my cake. Seven years I lived with you guys and never once did I get cake."

"You did not ask for it."

"You're a real pain in the butt, you know that?"

"As are you, O'Neill. But well worth it."

Jack grinned as he put his arm around his father's shoulders, the two of them gazing down at the planet that brought them together. "Love you too, Dad. But I still want my cake."

Inwardly, Thor smiled. "Happy Birthday, Son."

--


End file.
